


Of Convenience

by Annenburg



Series: "Convenience" Arc [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's not all sads, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Miscarriage, Pining, Pon Farr, References to Mpreg, Soul Bond, Spock eats flower petals, Um there's an artificial uterus implantation, check chapter notes for trigger chapter, citizenship shenanigans, hence the attempted rape/non-con tag, judicious use of tags, non-Into Darkness compliant, not Spock though, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:32:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annenburg/pseuds/Annenburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk needs to get married for political reasons.  Spock offers himself as the logical choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this was written for the kink meme almost 4 years ago, and I forgot to ever put it up here. There is attempted rape/non-con in one chapter, and I'll be sure to indicate which one it is. Also: this is unedited from 4 years ago, so judge kindly, please!

Jim didn’t precisely  _throw down_  the papers, but he did slam them on the desk with enough force that what little dust was on the surface of said desk swirled viciously about the air for a few moments before settling innocuously in a new pattern as it landed.  Spock, for his part, simply raised an eyebrow minutely.  Most of his focus was on the reaction itself, though a small portion remained fixated on the presence of actual paper aboard such a technologically advanced ship.  The obsolete ink-and-carbon forms meant something of significance must have been occurring.  
  
“ _God damn it,_ ” the captain ground out, not paying his first officer any mind.  They’d been discussing something before he’d opened the outdated envelope, but now it seemed of little consequence.  “There’s gotta be some regulation against that.  This better be wrong.”  
  
Spock clasped his hands behind his back.  “Is something amiss?” he asked, not certain if this was an instance in which the man would be his captain or his friend.  The man heaved out a sigh.  
  
“Komack,” he growled.  “He’s been trying to get the Enterprise out of my hands since I got it.  He thinks he’s finally found a way.”  
  
This was troublesome.  Spock allowed his eyes to flick from the papers on the other man’s desk to the white-knuckled grip the human had on his chair.  There was considerable tension in his posture.  “Has he indeed found a way, Captain?”  
  
Jim bit his lip.  Spock watched in mild fascination as an exotic pink flushed the area.  “He might have,” he said quietly.  “Regulation 447-22.  All Starfleet officers must retain citizenships of Federation planets outnumbering citizenships of non-Federation planets.”  
  
Spock allowed one eyebrow to stretch upwards.  “Are you not a citizen of Earth?” he inquired, taking in the man’s form.  There was no hint of anything but Terran blood in the man.  
  
“Yeah, I am, but,” he said in a rush, pounding a fist against the papers.  Of course, this action did not result in anything significant, just another faint swirling and resettling of dust.  “But I was born in Klingon space.  Since I was actually born off the Kelvin in a shuttle, I can be considered a fucking  _Klingon_  citizen.  A one-to-one ratio doesn’t count as ‘outnumbering’.”  
  
The Vulcan wondered for a moment whether the Klingons were actually aware of Kirk’s citizenship, but he banished the thought from his mind.  It was a logical race to declare the captain a citizen of as it could neither be confirmed nor denied.  The Klingons were not likely to cooperate with a Starfleet inquiry.  After a moment’s thought, he needlessly straightened his back.  
  
“He is filing an injunction?” Spock queried, more a statement than anything.  Jim nodded in reply anyway.  “Until what date are you permitted to remain captain?”  
  
Jim glanced over the papers, obviously seething.  “Two days for the injunction to be made official,” he spat.  “Two fucking days.  How am I supposed to sort out my citizenship issues in two days?”  
  
Spock strode to the desk, lifting the abused papers off of it.  They were dry, smooth – he preferred them, almost, to a PADD.  Two days.  Komack had certainly done his research on this; Jim’s birth records, his Starfleet admissions paperwork, a thorough history of the man’s residences and family, and varied other information occupied the pages.  It was, in fact, put together almost flawlessly.  From a neutral standpoint, even Spock could admit that the data was enough to purge Kirk from Starfleet entirely.  
  
“There is no denying that you are, in the eyes of the Federation, a Klingon citizen,” Spock murmured, flipping the pages superfluously  _because there were pages to flip_. But he could at least argue that he was doing so to make a point.  “The only advice I can offer is to scour the records to locate or attain a third citizenship.”

“’Attain a third citizenship’?” Jim frowned.  “Spock.  I lived on Earth and Tarsus.  My parents were both human.  I’m not finding another citizenship.  Unless I can convince some ambassador to give me honorary citizenship with his planet, I’m fucked over.  And the only ambassador I’m on good enough terms to ask that of?  Doesn’t have that power in this timeline.”  
  
Spock nodded, just a slight incline of his head.  “The only other viable option would be marriage,” he conceded, tapping the papers straight again and setting them down. “However, I have not observed you in a particularly monogamous association with anyone, let alone a member of another Federation planet.”  
  
Jim let out a long-suffering sigh, pulling his chair out and all but throwing himself into it.  “Yeah, and it’s not like I have a secret lover waiting in the wings either,” he groaned.  “Fuck.  How am I supposed to keep my ship?”  
  
Spock reminded himself that the regulations existed for a reason.  He respected them, followed them to the best of his ability.  He had never before found reason to question them or attempt to break them, and yet—  
  
And yet Captain James T.  Kirk was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to Starfleet.  It would be illogical to oust him from his position on the whim of a jealous councilman.  
  
“Perhaps a crew member will agree to marry you, should you make your situation known,” Spock suggested, watching the man’s hands clench into fists.  
  
“I can’t tell anyone if I want to remain in Starfleet in any possible way,” he said lowly, elbows digging into his sides.  The man was all but compacting himself.  “And besides, the only citizens of planets besides Earth are you and Keenser.  And forgive me, but I’m not marrying that little green midget.”  
  
A thought occurred to Spock then, an illogical and impulsive and preposterous thought, and before he could stop himself, his voice carried it out.  
  
“Then the only logical course of action would be to marry me.”  
  
The room was completely silent for a few seconds, still, not even the sounds of breathing making their way through the permeable quiet.  Then, with a long inhale to precede it, Jim opened his mouth a laughed.  Raucously.  Crazily.  Completely uncontrolled.  
  
“ _Fuck,_  Spock,” the man managed, choking on air.  Spock did his best to remain impassive.  “Fuck.  You gotta be kidding me.  Marrying  _you_  is the most rational decision?  How did you even come  _up_  with that?”  
  
Now that he had offered, Spock could not rescind.  “It is to Starfleet’s benefit that you remain Captain of the Enterprise,” he found himself saying.  “As a member of Starfleet, it is therefore to my benefit as well.  As it would be in the interest of the majority, it is logical that any means necessary are taken to ensure that you remain an officer in Starfleet.  If Vulcan citizenship through a marriage to me is the only way to do this, then it is only logical that I offer.”  
  
The laughter died down abruptly, Jim’s eyes wide and fixed on his first officer.  “You’re serious,” he stuttered, as though the idea had just occurred to him.  “You’re actually offering to marry me.”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock acknowledged, valiantly attempting to hide his nerves.  “Although in the eyes of the Federation, the citizenship you would gain would be tentative until the marriage had been sustained for at least 13 months, and beyond that point you would keep the citizenship even if we were to divorce.  Assuming you can manage a wedded life with me for that length of time, you would have full Vulcan citizenship.”  
  
Jim’s face was a struggle in and of itself.  Spock watched the handsome eyes flick everywhere but to his own.  He watched the man’s lips purse and pout and disappear into his mouth—  
  
It was perhaps an ill-thought-out idea to offer his hand in marriage to a man he found himself physically drawn to, but there was no necessity in touch.  Hidden emotions would remain hidden, and desires Spock hardly acknowledged as present would be buried beyond what they had before, should the captain accept his proposition.  
  
And then Jim’s eyes found their way back onto Spock’s own, a hesitant determination evident even to Spock’s untrained eyes.  
  
“Okay,” the man breathed.  “Now.  Before I change my mind.”

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

There had been much to discuss, the last of which was completed a mere twelve minutes before they were due on the bridge.  The plan was laid out tediously, but it had to be such to merit Spock’s approval and Jim’s confidence.  And what might have irritated the Vulcan (if he were low enough to permit irritation) was the sheer simplicity of the plan in question.  
  
Step 1: Set course to New Vulcan.  
  
Jim gave the order to Sulu, who followed it without question.  Chekov, however, in his unchecked curiosity, asked quite plainly  _why_  they weren’t maintaining their current course to the Lurentian system.  “Are ve going to come back?  Now I am wery curious vhy ve alvays change course vhen ordered there…”  
  
Two occurrences were not substantial enough to form a pattern.  Spock was tempted to inform the young man of this, but he was prevented by Jim’s simple answer: “Just needed to run something by the council.  And it really can’t wait.”  
  
Step 2: Engage in a public display of intimacy such as to alert the crew to their impending arrangement.  
  
Spock had specifically listed the displays he would permit, but all that seemed pointless when all the captain did simply lay a hand on his shoulder while he was working at his station.  He turned to look the man in the eye, prepared to question what he needed.  Jim cocked his head, smiled, and said in a voice that under normal circumstances would have been quiet but in the sudden silence of the bridge was almost a yell, “you didn’t have breakfast, right?  So how about we grab some lunch?”  
  
Spock turned back and finished the sequence he’d been in the process of completing before standing, accepting the man’s offer wordlessly.  He made his way off the bridge at Jim’s side, tossing back an authoritative, “Sulu, you have the bridge,” as he left.  
  
Step 3: Prepare the captain’s quarters for cohabitation.  
  
It was with some hesitation that Spock found himself moving his belongings into Jim’s rooms.  It was also with relief (and some amount of confusion) that he found the closet completely empty, Jim’s only explanation being that he could fit everything in the dresser anyway, so he didn’t need it.  The arrangement suited Spock perfectly, given his preference to hang his clothes.  He only needed a quarter of one drawer outside the space the closet provided, and that quarter of one drawer was immediately surrendered to him.  
  
His chessboard was set up carefully and tastefully located, and his few personal belongings – a few books, two artifacts of Ancient Vulcan origin, and a single photograph of his mother – found their way to the room’s ample bookshelf.  The move took less than an hour.  
  
Jim glanced over the newly redecorated quarters slowly, and Spock set about familiarizing himself with the surroundings.  It was not entirely different from his former residence – the only notable difference being the expansion of the bed to accommodate two.  And only then – with the worst possible timing – did the Vulcan realize it.  
  
He would be expected to sleep alongside Jim.  
  
He stared at the bed for perhaps a moment too long, and then Jim was at his side.  “I can deal if you can deal,” he offered.  Spock nodded absently, trying to ease his tension.  “By the way, I hog the covers and I sleep on the left.”


	2. Chapter 2

Spock wasn’t quite certain how an emergency meeting of the council was so quickly arranged on his behalf, barely eight hours later, but he had his own theories – the most likely of which attributing the haste to a man who only resembled him if one was looking.  The same man who took the place of Councilman Sefar.  
  
The same man looking at him this very moment.  
  
“The council was led to believe this to be a matter of some urgency,” his father began, looking down from his position.  Spock nodded in confirmation.  “Very well. Please explain the necessity of this meeting concisely.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back against the familiar material of his uniform.  “It is in Vulcan tradition to repay debts to the fullest extent possible and in a timely manner,” he said firmly.  “And the people of Vulcan owe to Captain James Tiberius Kirk of Starfleet a debt beyond repayment.  Through his actions, the destruction of Vulcan was delayed in such time that our history, grand council, and dignity could be preserved.  Although there is no course of action which can properly repay him for this great service, he has come to me asking for something that would be illogical to deny him.”  
  
His elder self – the man the people of Vulcan have come to know as  _Keilok_  - leaned forward.  “Elaborate.”  
  
The younger Vulcan allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts, thankful Jim was outside the room.  He did not need to hear this.  He did not need to hear the words Spock had been unwilling to admit were the truth.  The admission he was about to make could ruin everything they’d built, and yet it had to be done.  
  
“Before I specify the request he made of me, I must inform the council of something equally important to these proceedings,” he stated plainly, avoiding the eyes of his father or ‘Keilok’.  “James T.  Kirk is not merely my captain.  He is my T’hy’la, and he turned to me when all other avenues closed for him.”  
  
He watched the council members exchange glances.  ‘Keilok’ nodded him on.  
  
“His citizenship has been brought to question,” Spock finally informed them, “and will lead to him being discharged from Starfleet.  This can be amended if he is to receive citizenship from another Federation planet.  As such, I proposed a marriage between us to not only cement the bond we have formed but to ensure that he is able to continue the work he has been performing for the Federation itself.”  
  
There was only a brief pause before ‘Keilok’ spoke.  
  
“You are saying, then, that this is not merely a marriage of convenience?” the older man asked, eyes locking with his.  Spock nodded, feeling the weight of the council’s eyes on him more heavily than ever.  He straightened his back to it.  “Then I must state my approval for the marriage.”  
  
Spock’s father’s eyes flashed to the older man.  “I must state my disapproval, then,” he said firmly.  “It is illogical.  While the joining of two males may have been acceptable with the population of Vulcan at a safe number, recent events have led me to the conclusion that this permission must be denied if our race is to have a chance at repopulation.”  
  
Spock set his jaw.  “I would not consent to marriage solely for the purpose of procreation,” he managed to say in an even tone.  “However, should you require that the marriage result in offspring of Vulcan heritage, I am aware of the success in clinical trials of the Male Carrier technique and am willing, once the process is certified by the Federation board, to undergo said procedure as such to provide said offspring.”  
  
The process of certification would take at least eighteen months, Spock calculated.  And by that point, Jim could have dissolved the marriage.  
  
Which Spock had to be willing to permit.  
  
The council elder stood.  “If such is the case, then I can see no further objections to the marriage in question,” he said, voice carrying in the wide hall.  “Although this marriage cannot repay the debt we owe to your captain, Spock, it can repay the debt we owe to you.  The Vulcan council agrees to this union.”  
  
Spock found himself frozen.  “There is a debt owed to me?” he queried, glancing about the council.  They almost looked surprised.  
  
“You are the one who came onto Vulcan to preserve the council itself,” the elder stated.  “The council’s existence is thanks to your actions.  We are therefore indebted to you.  Will you accept our blessing on your nuptials in repayment?”  
  
A short pause, and then Spock heard himself say, “it would be more than sufficient.”  
  
The council rose, Sarek’s eyes burning on Spock and ‘Keilok’ already making his way down to his younger self.  Before turning to exit again, he whispered in Spock’s ear, “I wish to speak with you before your ceremony is performed.”  
  
And then the council room was empty, leaving the Spock of this generation with his thoughts, his joy, and his newly accepted fiancé waiting outside the door.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

  
Spock managed to inform Jim of the Council’s permission with no outward display of emotion.  Jim, however, made a loud noise, pumping his hand victoriously and attracting the attention of several nearby Vulcans before doing the unthinkable and tossing an arm over Spock’s shoulder and tugging him into a brief hug.  It was over as quickly as it began, but the damage was already done.  He could only hope his father had not seen the display.  
  
But a glance towards the door to the council room proved that Spock’s hopes were misguided.  There stood ‘Keilok’, beckoning him with nothing more than a simple look.  Spock nodded, murmuring directions to the records building to Jim as he left.  
  
He followed his elder self through the doors to the presently empty council room.  They were silent for a moment.  
  
“You are fortunate to have come so far in so little time,” ‘Keilok’ said, clasping his hands behind his back.  Spock tried not to show any surprise.  The older man took a deep breath.  “In my time, it took a great amount of time for our relationship to develop beyond that of Captain and first officer.  We were nearly forty before we bonded.”  
  
Spock froze.  The man raised an eyebrow.  “You are surprised?”  
  
He set his jaw.  “I had not realized you shared such a relationship with the Jim Kirk of your time,” he stated simply.  “I was under the impression our…situation was unique.”  
  
‘Keilok’ nearly smiled.  Emotions seemed so easy on this man’s face.  “It seems there are constants in any reality,” he murmured.  “There was so much to the bond between us, Spock.  And there will be so much to the bond you will share with your Jim Kirk.  No matter the distance, the situation, or the manner in which you conduct yourselves, that bond will never be severed.”  
  
Spock wondered the truth of the statement.  He took a breath.  “The Jim of your world is?”  
  
“He lost his life long ago,” ‘Keilok’ murmured, shoulders falling a fraction of an inch.  Spock found himself taken aback by the pain in his elder self’s eyes.  “It is something you can never be prepared to face, Spock.  Your life will continue beyond his years.  Someday, you will face existence in a galaxy where the one you love no longer exists.”  
  
The younger man sucked in a breath, watching the other man’s face harden back into its emotionless mask.  Keilok met his eyes.  “You will have longer than I did.  Be thankful for this.”  
  
The door creaked open, and when the men turned to face it, Sarek was pacing towards them.  Spock straightened out to the best of his ability.  The man stood perhaps four feet from them when he stopped.

“Ambassador Keilok, I inquire as to the reason for your support of this union,” he stated without preamble.  “The results from the Male Carrier procedure are mixed at best, and most likely will not be a viable possibility for a number of years.  In the face of extinction, it is illogical to permit a bond between two individuals incapable of reproduction.”  
  
Keilok looked for a long moment upon their father’s face, Spock mentally recited his meditation katas until some semblance of calmness spread through his body.  “Ambassador Sarek, the bonding of T’hy’la is one of Vulcan’s most sacred traditions,” he explained, voice deep.  “It is not a matter of preserving the species or any specific family line, but of the preservation of the Vulcan culture itself.  To lose the tradition of T’hy’la bonds and marriage would be to lose a fundamental piece of Vulcan culture and history.  And were that not enough, I have great faith that the Carrier technique will be certified before the end of the current Star year.  I am certain Spock’s mate will understand the need for procreation.”  
  
Spock’s eyes flick to Keilok’s.  It could’ve happened, he supposed.  The Spock and Jim of the other timeline may very well have  _had_  children.  An image flashed to his mind, unbidden, of what a child between them might have looked like.  An image of dark hair, light eyes, perfectly pointed ears – and he forced it out.  
  
Even if it had happened in the other timeline, it would not happen here.  
  
Sarek seemed unconvinced, if Spock’s distracted read on his father was correct.  “Even assuming this, Spock’s intended mate is human.  The bloodline cannot be diluted any further.”  
  
“Father,” Spock started to say, but his elder self held up a hand to stop him.  
  
“Ambassador, there are some things that are inevitable,” he stated, voice deep.  “This is not the only reality I have seen.  I have, in fact, been privy to the workings of multiple  _dimensions_ , you could call it.  And in every one of them, Spock and James Kirk are bonded.  There is no variation.  With or without your approval, this will occur.”  
  
Sarek’s mouth was a thin line at best, barely there.  “The likelihood of alternate realities and interdimensionality is incalculable.”  
  
Keilok raised an eyebrow.  “I have no definitive proof for you beyond what your own eyes fail to see,” he dismissed.  “However, the marriage will occur, and it will occur today.  It would be advisable for you to put aside your bias against this union and observe your son’s ceremony.”  
  
Keilok patted Spock’s shoulder and stepped towards the door.  Sarek’s eyes remained on his son.  
  
“You are basing your decision on emotion,” he spat stiffly, shoulders level and voice conveying the slightest amount of disapproval.  Spock forced the words out of his head.  “If Vulcan had survived the attack, I would have no objections to the bond.  James Kirk is a respectable man, and the furthering of our diplomatic relations resulting from his marriage to a Vulcan would have made the union favorable.  This is no longer the case.”  
  
Spock allowed the words their time to linger in the chamber, let the high ceilings and dusted windows echo the utterance into nothingness.  He gave them a moment to fade, and then met his father’s eyes once more.  “You said you married Mother because you loved her,” he didn’t argue – merely stated.  “You married her out of emotion against the judgment of your peers.  Allow me the same choice.”  
  
Something changed in his father’s brows – some looseness he’d never seen.  “You will not bring her into this argument.”  
  
“You will not preclude her from it,” Spock replied, fisting his hands behind his back.  “Were she given a say in this situation, Father, you know what she would have encouraged.”  
  
And somehow, despite the improbability, his father stilled.  He stared at his son, though it seemed as though his eyes saw nothing.  After a few long seconds, he spoke again, his voice quiet.  “Your mother would have been proud to see you marry him.”  
  
Seeing no reason to prolong the conversation, Spock bowed his head, turned around, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

Vulcan paperwork was thankfully (and apparently to humans, surprisingly) simple.  There were no long and drawn out applications or legal jargon.  Spock had a hypothesis that human marriage papers were made intentionally difficult to complete because humans had a tendency to make big decisions impulsively, and as such needed some deterrent to keep them from creating unintended future legal problems on a whim.  
  
At least, Spock rationalized, the future legal problems he and Jim were creating were intentional.  
  
Jim, for his part, looked doubtful.  “What, I just sign my name  _once_  and it’s good?”  
  
Spock nodded, already signing his in Vulcan letters, following with the translation into Standard.  Jim raised an eyebrow, but signed his own sheet regardless, a scrawling signature nearly an eyesore compared to the neat, contained signature of every Vulcan Spock had ever met.  He set down the pen and glanced over the simple sheet, and then back to his new husband.  
  
“That’s it?” he asked, picking up the paper.  “I mean, ‘I fully understand the legal consequences of engaging in nuptials with the individual in possession of the corresponding form 4487642-B and the processes by which this process may be annulled or dissolved.’ Is that seriously all Vulcan has to say about marriage?”  
  
Spock gathered Jim’s sheet with his own, forcing down some smattering of sentimentality.  “It is extraordinarily rare that a marriage occurs between two previously unbonded individuals,” he explained.  “Once bonded, all a pair lacks is legal recognition.  Divorce and annulment among Vulcans is particularly rare as a result.”  
  
Jim shifted.  “Oh,” he murmured.  “So…we’re a rarity?”  
  
Spock paused.  “I…implied that we had already bonded,” he admitted.  “I will file the contracts immediately.  Our koon-ut-kal-if-fee will proceed immediately following the entry of our union in the federation database.  If you wish anyone to witness this, it would be best to invite them planetside now.”  
  
Jim  _grinned_ , flipping his communicator out of his pocket and open in one fluid moment.  “Scotty?” he called in.  Spock slid the papers into the window wordlessly.  
  
“Yes, Cap’n?” the man’s voice came through clear as day.  Jim smirked.  
  
“Prepare to beam yourself, Bones, and Sulu down to New Vulcan,” he said, propping a hand on his hip.  “Let Chekov man the transporter and give Uhura the conn.  I expect to see the three of you in five minutes, okay?”  
  
There was a pause.  “Alrighty then.  I did want to see what it’s like down there.  I’ll be down soon.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow at the captain.  “An odd choice of witnesses,” he observed.  “Is there any particular reason you selected them?”  
  
Jim shrugged, crossing his arms.  The communicator was back in his pocket.  “Bones would kill me if I didn’t invite him to my wedding,” he very obviously joked.  “And Scotty and Sulu are the biggest gossips on the ship.  If we let them see the wedding, everyone’s gonna know we’re married before midnight.”  
  
The Vulcan nodded.  “Logical,” he said softly.  A pause as he collected his thoughts.  This was not how he was brought to believe his marriage would be carried out.  He was thankful for a moment that many of the traditions would be impossible now, and equally thankful that Jim was male.  The ceremony would be simpler.  There would be no bridal party, no kal-if-fee, and most thankfully, the ceremony would not need to take place on his father’s land.  ‘Keilok’ had guaranteed them the ceremony would take place in the council room, after which they were to retreat for—  
  
Spock felt his shoulders stiffen.  Jim frowned.  “Spock?” he asked.  “What’s wrong?”

“It is fortunate we have already arranged our shared quarters,” he managed, the words coming out less than smoothly.  Jim cocked his head, confusion evident on his features.  Spock met his eyes, willing these words to come out more easily.  “After the ceremony, we are expected to retreat to a private location – our quarters, in this instance – and consummate the bond.  We are expected to remain isolated for two days.”  
  
Jim was the one who froze this time.  His mouth slid open slightly.  “Wait, consummate?” he asked abruptly.  Spock nodded, unable to respond vocally.  “Consummate, as in…sex?  We’re expected to go have sex for two days straight?”  
  
Spock nodded again.  “I imagine it should be easy enough to fake intimacy,” he offered.  Jim sighed.  
  
Jim sighed in  _relief_.  Spock tried not to feel disappointed.  
  
‘Keilok’ arrived not a second later, dressed in ceremonial garb.  Spock glanced over Jim, still in his yellow command shirt, and to his future self.  The older one shook his head.  “As this union is rather abrupt, we had no time to prepare your clothing,” he informed them.  “This will likely be more comfortable for both of you anyway.”  
  
“Thanks,” Jim smiled.  ‘Keilok’ returned the gesture, if only slightly – but it was more than Spock would have allowed himself to do.  “Just waiting for Bones, Scotty, and Sulu.”  
  
There was a long silence as they awaited the arrival, with Jim pacing and the pair of Spocks very occasionally exchanging glances.  After what seemed too long a time, there was the telltale materialization of three bodies.  
  
“You’re late!” Jim called as the three men completely rematerialized.  McCoy raised an eyebrow at the man’s response.  “Jeez.  There’s no way that was five minutes, Scotty.”  
  
Sulu crossed his arms.  “He didn’t have a lot of time to arrange everything like you asked,” he pointed out.  “And frankly, I don’t see the sense in leaving Uhura in charge of the bridge.  She’s an excellent linguist, but her leadership skills are limited.  I’m sure you could’ve handled everything you needed to down here with an ensign’s help. I should be on the ship.”  
  
Jim smirked.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night, Mr.  Sulu?”  
  
“Chekov kept me up until two trying to explain transwarp beam theory to me,” he growled.  “Didn’t help that I had to cover for your shift today, too.  Why am I here?”  
  
Spock assumed it would be best if the explanation was given rationally, so he stepped forward.  “It is an extension of an honor, Mr.  Sulu,” he informed him.  “I apologize we did not give further notice, but I am confident you will find the arrangement worth the questionable chain of command it created.”  
  
“What arrangement?” McCoy spoke this time.  Before Spock could even speak, Jim was clapping his hands on his best friend’s shoulders.  
  
“Long story short, we’re getting hitched,” he grinned, the expressions of all three men going completely blank.  McCoy simply stared at Jim with a look that suggested he might have suspected insanity after a moment.  Jim chuckled.  “Oh, and by the way – I want you to be my Best Man, Bones.  You’re cool with that, right?”  
  
Spock watched as the doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a tricorder, running it over Jim incredulously.  Why he had brought it was beyond the Vulcan.  “No fever…”  
  
Jim sighed.  “I’m not sick, Bones,” he deadpanned.  “Is it so hard to believe that I want to marry Spock?”  
  
And then Scott was laughing, arms wrapped around his body.  Spock raised an eyebrow in his direction, but Jim just strode over and slapped him on the back.  “I cannae believe it!” the man gasped out, barely keeping upright.  “I  _knew_  the two o’ya were, y’know, the two o’ya, and you were together – but aren’ya moving a wee bit fast?”  
  
“On the contrary, Mr.  Scott, the timing is ideal on both our parts,” Spock contradicted, mentally phrasing his next words.  “And I assure you, this was an inevitability, and thus the sooner resolved the better.”  
  
“Real sentimental,” McCoy grumbled.  “Jim, you’re sure?  I mean, you two don’t even  _live_  together.”  
  
Spock watched Jim, apparently a marvelous actor in the making, blink in confusion.  “What?” he seemed to ponder it a moment.  “Bones, Spock and I  _do_  live together. He moved into my quarters awhile ago.  I thought you’d noticed.”

“ _When_?!” the man sputtered.  “Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a psychic!  You have to  _tell_  me these things!”  
  
Spock took a breath.  “Although you have a right to express your concerns, Doctor, I assure you that this marriage is for the best,” he said firmly.  “Once bonded, the only missing legality in my race is marriage.  Furthermore, should we wait any longer, I expect my father would attempt to bond me to another Vulcan.  And finally, if this marriage had occurred ten hours from now, the captain would have been removed from command on the Enterprise.”  
  
That seemed to capture everyone’s attention.  “What?” Sulu asked, neck tilting at an unusual angle.  “What do you mean ‘removed from command’?”  
  
Jim scratched his neck.  Spock was fairly certain it did not actually itch, though there was a sheen of sweat forming on his body.  He did not allow the image to hold sexual connotations.  “Well, uh, you know Komack’s been against me becoming captain since the start?” the human started, an odd half-smile, half-frown on his face. “He filed a claim that I’m a Klingon citizen because I was born in Klingon space.”  
  
“Ridiculous,” McCoy spat.  “Jim, your parents were both citizens of the Federation.  You’re a Federation citizen.”  
  
“Tell that to Komack,” Jim grimaced.  “No one can disprove it.  Back then, evacuation shuttles weren’t considered Federation soil.  There’s debate to retroactively declare births on evacuation shuttles as births on sovereign Federation territory, but right now?  No one can legally say I’m  _not_  a Klingon citizen.  When I told Spock, he proposed.”  
  
Scott actually  _winked_  at Spock.  The Vulcan raised an eyebrow.  “Didn’ want to be separated from the cap’n, then?”  
  
“That is not inaccurate,” Spock confirmed lightly, glancing towards ‘Keilok’.  “Ambassador.  It would be in good sense to begin the ceremony as expeditiously as possible.  We are scheduled to set course to the Lurentian system as soon as possible.”  
  
‘Keilok’ nodded his agreement, gesturing for the group to follow.  Spock spared a glance behind him as he walked, noting Jim and McCoy arguing quietly, heads close together and increasingly irritated looks growing on both their faces.  He attributed it to the suddenness of the nuptials and ignored them.  Sulu still had a look of shock on his face, and Scott was insistently marching alongside the two Spocks, a grin on his face.  
  
“So, you’re showing up old Komack, are ye?” he badgered, resembling in some ways an overly attentive pet.  “Tha’s brilliant, that is.  Never did like the man.  Used to petition against interspecies marriage before the Federation cut in and made it all legal, you know?  Dunno how he got all the power he’s got, but he doesn’ deserve it. You show him.”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock murmured, glancing at his older counterpart.  However short the walk to the council room should have been, it seemed inordinately longer.  Each step seemed so small.  
  
The step he was about to take was so much bigger.  
  
Logically, he realized he had officially been married to Jim since he’d filed their contracts, but somehow it wasn’t complete yet.  In moments, he would stand before the council again, before their shipmates and family and even  _himself_  and join in ancient ceremony.  In moments, he would be  _wedded_ , not simply married.  
  
As they walked, Spock recalled something Keilok had said to their father earlier.  Something that made his blood stop cold in his veins, or so it felt.  He glanced at his elder self.  
  
“You said the male carrier technique will be certified this year?” he said in as low a voice as he could manage.  Keilok nodded minutely, just enough to confirm the answer without raising any suspicions.  Spock’s mouth was suddenly dry.  “Did you two ever—”

“We did not need to do so,” he murmured.  “We by that point in our lives had each reproduced.  I do not regret that we did not choose to have a child together, though I at times wonder if we should have.  But we were content with what we had.”  
  
They thankfully reached the council room at that precise moment, sparing Spock the responsibility of a reply.  Sulu, Scott, and McCoy were ushered into the room by Keilok, leaving the captain and first officer alone outside.  Spock stretched out the nerves building in his shoulders.  “Are you prepared to enter?”  
  
Jim glanced at the door for a moment too long.  “Sorry I’m making you do this,” he murmured.  Spock felt an odd tingle in his abdomen close to his heart.  
  
“In wedding you, I am ensuring the Enterprise will remain in good hands,” he informed him as simply as he could manage.  “There is nothing for which you need apologize.  There is, however, one gesture with which you will need to become familiar.”  
  
Confusion crossed Jim’s face briefly.  Spock gently lifted his captain’s hand by the wrist and pressed his first two fingertips against his.  “When we are told to kiss, this is how it must be done,” he stated.  Jim cocked his head as though waiting for more.  Spock pressed his fingers against the other’s firmly, repressing a shudder at the sensations it evoked.  “I am aware humans kiss with their mouths, Jim.  We do so with our fingers.  Please refrain from making any inane jokes about thumb wrestling.”  
  
Jim, whose mouth had opened just as he made his request, froze, and then looked slightly disappointed.  His eyes traveled to their joined fingertips and he flexed them lightly against Spock’s.  “This is a kiss?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Huh,” Jim muttered.  He pulled his hand back and Spock found himself missing the contact immediately.  He willed that away.  “Ready for the bells?”  
  
“Drums,” Spock corrected.  “Vulcan weddings employ the use of drums.”  
  
Jim smirked at his answer and slipped his arm through his first officer’s, and then marched them together through the door.  Spock found he could not complain.  
  
The room was lit appropriately, the sunlight streaming through the windows reflecting off blue and grey rock and flittering about the room, artificial lights no less beautiful glancing up from the floors to shine light where shadows might have fallen.  Keilok stood before two kneeling mats.  Behind the right mat stood McCoy, flanked by Sulu and Scott.  Behind the left – Spock’s arms attempted to clench to his body, only succeeding in holding Jim’s forearm against his heart.  Behind the left stood his father. But what stood next to him forced emotions Spock might never have admitted having in the first place if denying them hadn’t seemed so immediately illogical.

On his father’s right side stood a simple frame, the photo inside capturing his mother’s gentle smile, her soft curls beyond the reach of the camera’s lens. Spock had never seen the photograph before, had never even seen a traditional camera capture his mother’s image – and yet here it was.  He found he could not move.  
  
Jim allowed him this, and although Spock could not remove his eyes from the photo, he knew the man was looking at him.  An extra moment forcing a neutral expression to his face, and then Spock loosened his grip on the man beside him and stepped forward.  
  
They reached the mats, at which point he removed his arm from the other man’s and stood before his father behind the mat.  Jim caught on and stood before McCoy opposite him.  Leading by example, Spock sank to his knees in as controlled a manner as he could manage, remaining upright otherwise.  Jim followed suit, his face betraying no nervousness.  
  
“I am going to assume there are none in company who wish to combat this bond,” Keilok began, “and as such the ceremony shall begin.”  
  
There were words spoken in Vulcan and in Standard, words of measured devotion and of the compatibility of minds.  Words of tradition and responsibility, and words of the presence in their minds of one another,  _parted from me and never parted_.  
  
“Live long and prosper.  Together,” Keilok finished the ceremony without the salute, merely crossing his arms behind his back.  “Complete the union.”  
  
Jim subtly glanced to Spock for guidance, at which point the Vulcan in question raised his hand, fingers extended.  Jim caught on immediately – the man was not unintelligent, despite evidence otherwise – and lifted his own, pressing them against Spock’s.  They remained together for a few long moments, after which Spock dropped his hand and rose to his feet, offering a hand to help Jim to his.  
  
“You are wed,” Keilok nodded, glancing between the pair with obvious approval in his eyes.  Spock wondered what Jim would think of it.  He did not linger on the subject, though, didn’t have a chance to as Keilok spoke again.  “Retreat to your quarters, Spock and Jim, to consummate what you have been given.”  
  
McCoy exchanged a horrified glance with Scott behind Jim’s back, something which both amused and irritated Spock.  And then Keilok was leaning forward, speaking in low tones:  
  
“…although I suspect this has been preempted quite thoroughly already indeed,” he murmured, to which Spock felt his ears burn and watched as Jim’s shoulders rose with laughter.  He was quite glad not to be facing his father.  
  
“Alright, then.  Retreat we shall!” Jim exclaimed, grinning at Spock.  He fished his communicator out of his pocket and flipped it open.  “All right, Chekov, beam us up!”  
  
A light touch to his shoulder made Spock turn around.  His father’s face was unreadable – but the offerings in his hands said everything.  Spock took them as he began to dematerialize, nodding his thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

Given they had two days of guaranteed privacy (mostly guaranteed because McCoy, looking slightly green at the thought of James Kirk sleeping with his first officer, had assigned the lock code to their quarters and only given them the corresponding unlock code), Spock had a long while to decide where to put his mother’s photo. Jim was unusually supportive of him, suggesting locations where it might catch the most light or where it would gain the most knowledge (although Jim had an illogical proclivity to assign the photo and frame the labels of ‘she’ and ‘her’ and he was entirely incapable of convincing him to refer to it as anything else.).

When at last Spock settled on a place – hung beside the bookshelf near the door to the hallway – Jim nodded in approval. “Good place. She’ll always be there to welcome you home.”

Spock had not responded to that, but some warmth spread in his abdomen at the thought, irrational as it might have been.

Two days of isolation while pretending to be consummating a marriage passed slowly. The first day was spent deciding where to hang Spock’s photo and planning how to handle the crew’s reaction to the news. There was no doubt that everyone already knew – in fact, as they had made their way out of the transport room as a pair, Spock had heard Sulu informing Chekov, tone almost disbelieving, that not only were the captain and the first officer together, they had just ‘tied the knot’.

Jim had not needed to explain that euphemism. He had, however, had to explain ‘the two person push-up’, albeit amidst nearly hysterical laughter.

But it was obvious everyone would know of their arrangement by this point. The second day was one of relative leisure, during which Jim mainly laid in bed reading an actual book from the bookshelf – “Brave New World”, Spock thought it was called. Spock, for his part, studied interdimensional physics, only slightly distracted by the man on the bed.

“You wanna just, you know, do what we’re supposed to be doing?” Jim called over from the bed and Spock froze, back going ramrod straight. A laugh escaped his captain as he turned around, preparing to be indignant. “Joking, Spock. I know you’re not into that. I’m just bored.”

“Indeed,” Spock managed, the word neither an inquiry nor a statement. Merely a word. Jim patted the bed next to him and before he could control himself, Spock was walking over and sitting next to the other man’s thighs.

“We’re gonna need to leave evidence,” Jim said seriously, setting the book down. It was closing in on what had unanimously been declared (but only named by one) bedtime. Spock raised an eyebrow. “You know. Physical stuff. Bruises and hickeys and that sort of thing.”

The Vulcan rearranged himself, body turned towards Jim’s. “If we have already been together for as long as you would have the crew believe, it would be unnecessary,” he stated, feeling his pulse increase ten – eleven? – percent at the thought of marking that skin. Of biting and holding and pushing and—and nothing. “As they have never noticed anything before, we are obviously quite adept at preventing such noticeable traces.”

Jim grinned. “Thing is, we’re not hiding anything anymore,” he seemed to purr, but that was illogical. Humans did not purr. And it most certainly would not elevate Spock’s pulse further if they did. “And remember, James Kirk is a possessive bastard. Gotta let the whole world know what’s mine.”

Spock breathed deeply. “Logical, I suppose,” he agreed, hesitant. “How to you propose we do this?”

Jim seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then reached forward and grasped Spock’s hips. “Let me know if it hurts,” he murmured, beginning to add pressure at an exponentially increasing rate. “You usually wouldn’t notice it hurting during sex, but—well, you know. We’re not having sex.”

Spock allowed the action, allowed the fingers to dig in to this hips just above the line of his belt. Should he reach for anything or incline his body beyond a few degrees, his shirt would rise and the marks would show. He felt himself bruising and allowed it.

The other man also added a few marks to Spock’s wrists and one tiny bruise to his collarbone (which Spock only allowed after Jim expressed that, were they actually sleeping together, he would want to mark him there). Once he had finished, the subtle clues to their nonexistent intimacy were difficult to deny.

“Now,” Jim said, “do me.”

There was only one mark Spock needed to make. Only one very noticeable and extremely Vulcan mark, the only one he could anticipate he would ever make. Jim gave him permission, but even so—

Spock resigned himself to the task, leaned forward, and bit Jim – not the least bit gracefully, but careful not to hurt him – between the neck and shoulder, applying enough pressure to bruise and show the imprint of each tooth, but not enough to break the skin. He could not help but taste the skin in his mouth – to run his tongue over the salty sweet expanse of smooth skin, to suck lightly and lick against his teeth where the blood pulsed. Jim stiffened under his mouth, and Spock grudgingly pulled away.

“Adequate,” he murmured, and then, unable to look at the man whose eyes were suddenly so confused (why?), turned to move to the bathroom and the shower within.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

The bite mark, Spock noted as he drank his Plomeek broth the next morning, seemed to be the cause of a great deal of conversation. McCoy, for his part, had taken one look at the obvious bruise and run his fingers through his hair with some level of distress evident in his posture. The Vulcan hadn’t quite caught what he’d muttered under his breath, though there was a high probability it pertained to him and/or certain parts of his physiology. He had not become any less distressed since they had joined him at his table.

“You blew off two days of work for a honeymoon,” the doctor muttered, eyes fixed on Jim. Jim shrugged, obviously enjoying his pancakes. “Come on, how is that logical?”

It was obvious that the question was aimed at Spock, so he answered it. “It is a tradition in my culture,” he explained frankly, stealing a glance at the purpling bruise not close to being covered by Jim’s uniform. “The captain was being respectful of this.”

“Respectful, my ass,” McCoy grumbled. He looked directly at Jim’s eyes this time. “You just wanted time off for nonstop sex with—”

“I’d rather not think about that, thanks,” Nyota said stiffly, taking a seat next to Spock. He nodded his acknowledgement, inwardly thankful that she had cut the man off. Her eyes lingered on the light green bruise appearing from under his sleeve, but she gave no other indication of interest or distress. She glanced at the Vulcan. “So, how long have you two been together?”

They had agreed what to say, but it wasn’t in Spock’s nature to lie. Jim, in his almost telepathic way, answers the question for him.

“We melded on-planet during a mission six months ago,” he said, pausing to take a rather sizable bite out of one pancake. He chewed thoughtfully. “After that, it was like we’d been together for years. Felt natural, you know? Before either of us realized it, there was just no way we were separating. I can’t pronounce it, though—what is it, Spock? Tuh-?”

Spock’s pulse plummeted. How would Jim know that word? “T’hy’la,” he informed him. Jim nodded feverishly.

“Yeah, yeah – that. That’s the bond that formed,” he grinned. “One of these days I’ll learn how to pronounce it.”

“Ah,” Nyota said, suddenly disinterested in everything but her food. “There’s no flavoring in the oatmeal.”

“Scott’s fixing that,” McCoy muttered, pushing his eggs towards her. “Trade you. Once you’ve had patients demonstrate just how weak their gag reflex is when you’re six inches from their mouth, you can eat just about anything. Besides, we’ve gotta keep that mouth of yours happy, right, Miss Linguist?”

She scowled at him, but accepted. That was unusual; when he had been involved with her, she had refused all ‘handouts’ or help of any sort. Stubbornly independent. Her willingness to accept a trade with Dr. McCoy did not fit her previous behavioral patterns.

She ate the eggs silently.

Jim finished first, standing and clearing his tray, and on his way back past the table he extended two paired fingers. An odd thrill rushed through Spock’s spine, but all he did was extend his own, brushing the human’s in a gentle and fleeting caress. Jim left for the bridge with a slight smile on his face that Spock, if he believed in such nonsense, could have wished was genuine.

By the time Spock made it up to the bridge, Jim was conversing excitedly with Admiral Pike, who looked quite amused. The rest of the crew had expressions ranging from amused to adoring to completely blank. Spock began his way to his station when he finally heard what Jim was saying.

“And then, Jesus, the look on Bones’s face – I didn’t think I could get him to look that way without swelling up in reaction to one of his hyposprays,” he laughed, the sound worming into Spock’s abdomen. “But yeah, the wedding was pretty kickass. If I’d known it was gonna be this soon, I’d have invited you sooner. Thank Komack for me, wouldja?”

Pike smiled back, a chuckle passing through his lips. “It’ll boil his blood,” the older man said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s saying he’s going to send someone on board the Enterprise to see if your marriage is legitimate. He seems to think you cooked this up to avoid losing command.”

Spock diligently returned to his work, comparing and cataloguing pollen specimens from their last actual mission. Tedious and specific.

He liked tedious and specific.

“Issat so?” Jim asked, resting his head on his knuckles. Spock tried not to think about those hands closing on his hips. About how strong he knew they were. “Can he actually do that? Send someone here to prove that we’re not faking it?”

“Depends on the evidence he has against you,” Pike answered. “I don’t think so. Spock wouldn’t break Federation law like that.”

Spock did not feel guilty. Even if he had to remind himself that it wasn’t the entire reason he’d married the other man.

The rest of the conversation was rather mundane, talking about Pike’s recovery and his new duties and the like. And then, everything fell into the rhythm the ship was used to – the only difference being the looks the crew pointed at Spock and Jim when they didn’t think they would notice.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

The first month passed with relatively little difference in their lives. Certainly, Spock found himself with significantly less time to himself, but Jim unexpectedly allowed him his privacy. Spock could maintain his meditations, and while Jim required more sleep than the Vulcan, the man slept deeply enough that Spock slipping into bed with him did not wake him.

But there were distinct problems with sharing the bed. Distinct and humiliating and possibly ruinous problems, the most significant of which had Jim, who had somehow pinned Spock to the mattress while they slept, staring down at Spock with a bewildered look on his face.

“Please,” Spock searched for the correct word. “Please dismount.”

Jim whistled, not moving an inch. “Damn,” he said lowly, causing Spock’s stomach to twist. “Do all Vulcans get morning wood or is that just you?”

“You do not seem immune either, Captain,” Spock pointed out, willing his blood to any other place on his body. But his body would not heed the order, rebelling more so when he felt Jim’s hardness against his hip. The man lifted an eyebrow playfully.

“This is the longest I’ve gone without since I lost my virginity,” Jim informed him. “Doesn’t matter how often I clean the pipes out, so to speak. Every day I wake up with one of these. My body just wants sex.”

Spock’s body echoed the sentiment, hips begging to buck up into the man atop him. Every inch of him felt taut, stretched, aching for touch. Jim’s hips shifted against his slightly, and it took everything he had not to react. He collected himself as best he could. “I apologize that our nuptials have disrupted your preexisting sexual patterns,” he said in as clear a voice as he could manage, though to his own ears it sounded perhaps a little deeper. “I should have anticipated your needs.”

Jim shook his head. “That’s not—Spock, it’s been almost eight months since I got anywhere with anyone, and that wasn’t anywhere near sex,” he confessed. Spock’s expression must’ve given him away, because a moment later Jim was sighing. “I’m not the kind of guy who sleeps with his crew. Professional situations are based on a hierarchy and sleeping with someone on a different level of that hierarchy? Throws a wrench in the whole thing.”

Spock could not help the words that came out of his mouth then. “It would seem, then, that you see us as equals in this hierarchy or you would not have wed me.”

“Yeah,” the man sighed. “God. I want sex so fucking bad, Spock. I didn’t know it could be this hard to be celibate.”

Spock hadn’t known until that very morning, either. He was so hard he ached, and he knew that if he just shifted a little bit, just manipulated Jim’s ready body the slightest bit, that he could be given release. He remembered the long-faded bruises on his hips and wrists and the bite he’d delivered to Jim’s neck—

“It would be for the best if you were to dismount,” he managed, not quite groaning the words out. “There may be unintended consequences should you not.”

With what seemed great exertion, Jim obeyed, rolling off Spock. Spock brought himself to a sitting position, eyes locked with his husband’s. Jim beckons him towards the bathroom, to which Spock raises an eyebrow. “Look, Spock, it’s my fault we’re in this mess,” he ground out, the throaty tone to his words making Spock impossibly harder. “You handle yourself in the bathroom. I’ll handle myself out here. Okay?”

Spock found himself nodding, walking into their bathroom without glancing back at the other man. He barely made it inside before he was locking the door, leaning against the wall, and running his hands over himself, shivering at the dual stimulation. He’d hardly had the presence of mind to pull himself out of his pants. Ordinarily, he would declare this action unnecessary, illogical – something easily replaced with meditation, but he needed this, needed it now. He was too far gone to simply will it away. This required—required—

He gasped, and then bit down on all sounds he could make. Jim couldn’t hear him moaning, whimpering, or whimpering his name. He couldn’t afford to ruin everything. But he remembered the feeling of Jim pinning him to the bed, hands on his hips and that biting, sucking kiss he’d placed on his collarbone to bruise it – the taste of Jim’s skin under his teeth and the blood pulsing and the mark, that mark that stayed for a week before he couldn’t find it anymore—

And then Spock was gone, ejaculate streaming from his body, aimed in no particular direction. He should have been ashamed, guilty, but he knew that just outside the door, Jim was doing the same thing. And before he could stop himself, he indulged in thinking that perhaps Jim was thinking about him too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mild gore in this chapter. Of the medical variety, mostly. Please skip to the break after the elevator if that triggers or squicks you.

Another two weeks passed before anything worthy of mention occurred.  The Enterprise was to undergo routine repair at a Starfleet base just off the Sirius system and receive a few new graduates.  This would ordinarily be of no consequence, but from the very beginning a Miss Hart brought out the nerves in the Vulcan.  
  
Jim was making his way down the line of new recruits, introducing himself personally and asking them about themselves.  Hardly an unusual occurrence; the man was becoming known through Starfleet for knowing each of his crewmates personally.  He listened to their favorite sports, their family, hobbies, and all other sorts of things. But when he reached Miss Gillian Hart, Spock found himself overcome by some strange sense of aggravation.  
  
“I’m James Kirk,” he extended his hand to her.  She took it, holding it firmly.  
  
“Gillian Hart,” she purred – no mistaking it this time.  It seemed humans were capable of purring.  “Call me Jill, Mr.  Captain.”  
  
Jim thankfully ignored her request.  “Where do you come from, Ensign Hart?”  
  
“Earth.  United States.  Alabama,” she said, voice growing breathier with each word.  “You’re a stateside boy yourself, aren’t you, Mr.  Captain?  Ohio?  Montana?”  
  
“Iowa,” he corrected.  Spock remained where he was.  Once Jim finished the introductions, they were going to an antique bookstore.  There would be paper and leather and old ink, and there would be no pretty young ensigns attempting to seduce his husband.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ensign Hart.”  
  
Spock allowed himself to notice that he spent the least time speaking with Ensign Hart.  However, the second Jim dismissed the new crewmembers, the shapely woman was approaching him again.  
  
“Mr.  Captain, I’ve never been to Iowa before,” she breathed, puffing out her ample chest.  Spock tried to subdue his irritation.  “Maybe we can stop by a café here and you can tell me about it.”  
  
Jim had a sly smile on his face, and Spock didn’t know whether to trust it.  The ensign was obviously after a sexual rendezvous, and Spock knew how long it had been since Jim had engaged in sexual activity.  But the man shook his head.  “That’d be inappropriate, Ensign Hart,” he theatrically sighed.  “I promised my husband I’d go on a date with him today.  And it can’t be proper for a married man like me to just hop off to a café with a young lady.”  
  
Ensign Hart didn’t react beyond a raised eyebrow.  “You’re married?”  
  
The captain turned away from her.  “Mr.  Spock,” he called over.  Spock obediently walked to his side, stopping as soon as he reached their customary distance – one foot, two inches.  Jim turned his head to the Ensign again.  “Ensign Hart, I’d like you to meet First Officer Spock.  He’s my second in command, our Science Officer, and my husband.  Spock, this is Ensign Hart.  Graduated from the academy with a degree in astrophysics.”  
  
“Impressive,” Spock acknowledged.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
She did not respond immediately, eyes widening in a way Spock knew signaled shock.  She slowly accepted his hand, shaking it ever so lightly before retracting it with a certain measure of disgust evident on her face.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she reiterated, shoulders stiff.  
  
A barking laugh almost too familiar to the Vulcan cracked the tension in the air.  He displayed no outward show of surprise, only a quirked eyebrow as he turned to the gate and saw, of all people, Admiral Pike, seated comfortably on his hoverchair.  
  
“Admiral,” he nodded, and the man glided towards them.  “I was not aware you were at this particular station.”  
  
“I’m here for reassignment,” the admiral said, grinning at Jim as he did so.  “Remember how Komack wanted to send someone aboard to prove you two were faking it? He did.”

Jim blinked, and then his lips curled into a smirk.  “Is that so?” he asked lowly, mirth in his voice.  “And he decided to send you, Admiral?  I thought Starfleet was not permitted to send handicapped officers on missions.  No offense.”  
  
“None taken,” Pike acknowledged.  Logical.  The man was handicapped, and to take offense to a statement of fact would be irrational.  “And I’m supposed to go onto the Enterprise for relocation.  You’re going to be going through the Centaria System in a month, correct?  It seems all the other ships going through that system have inexplicably had their transport certification misplaced.  But don’t worry; I’m pretty sure they’ll be finding those certifications soon enough.”  
  
Jim extended a hand.  “It’ll be a pleasure having you on board again, Admiral,” he stated, an easy smile on his lips.  Pike accepted it.  Jim glanced up at Spock, who understood the subtle prompting well enough.  
  
“Indeed, it will be beneficial to the crew to have you among us once more,” Spock agreed.  Pike turned his chair to face the Vulcan.  
  
“Good to see you too, Mr.  Spock,” he said.  “You look great.  And what’s this I hear about you and Jim having a date today?  Dinner and a movie?  An art exhibition?”  
  
“Antique bookstore,” Jim answered.  Pike raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You have a chance to go on an honest to God date, and you want to go antique shopping?” the man asked.  “Why?”  
  
Spock let his hands fall to his side, extending paired fingers for Jim to brush against.  Jim did so, sending a shock up Spock’s spine, as always.  Pike probably didn’t know what to look for, probably wouldn’t recognize a Vulcan kiss, but he had to assume he did.  He was here to confirm that they were romantically involved, after all. “Jim and I share an affinity towards carbon and ink books,” he explained as their fingers remained in contact, an almost constant stream of stimulation flooding his body. “We have been planning this excursion since we received word that we would be at this particular station.  It is a rare opportunity.”  
  
“In other words,” Jim clarified, “we’ve been looking forward to this all week.  We can go out to eat and watch movies at any station.  But we can’t buy antique books at just any station.  You know?”  
  
Pike shook his head, but Spock was relatively sure that it wasn’t to signal ignorance.  “I never imagined Jim Kirk would be so domestic,” he said in a tone that signaled disbelief.  “You have a chance to be all romantic or sexual, and you decide you want to go book shopping?  Never thought you’d forgo a chance to have sex in a new place.”  
  
Jim shrugged, and Spock felt a need to preemptively drag him from the situation, but before he could act on it the man was already speaking.  “Well, you know.  It may be my motto to ‘boldly go where no man has gone before’, but something tells me we’ll be at this station again someday,” he pointed out.  “And besides, uh—hey, Spock, does sex  _in_  the ship while it’s docked count as sex in the place itself?”  
  
Spock felt his ears warming.  “We are yet undecided on that,” he avoided any confirmation or denial, though he was fairly certain the words came out somewhat strained.  “And I am fairly certain it is not appropriate to discuss such things in front of our direct superior.”

Jim raised an eyebrow.  “Spock, is there anyone who  _doesn’t_  know we fuck?”  
  
“Engage in coitus,” Spock corrected, glancing at Pike.  “I apologize, Admiral.  He is not usually so open.”  
  
Pike shrugged.  “It’s my job to tell Komack whether you’re actually involved or not,” he pointed out.  “You two being open makes my job easier.”  
  
Spock considered it for a moment, considered the responses he could possibly give for this.  All he could come up with was, “I am most uncomfortable with exhibitionism.”  
  
Jim was at once laughing almost hysterically, fingers slipping away from Spock’s.  The Vulcan flexed his own as if perplexed by the sudden lack of contact, already missing the coolness of his husband’s skin.  “Jesus, Spock,” Jim choked out.  “He didn’t mean it like  _that_.  He meant we can be affectionate or talk about our relationship around him.”  
  
“Oh,” Spock realized his error, an unwanted feeling of embarrassment flooding his being.  “I apologize.”  
  
“No need, Commander,” Pike assured him.  “Shall I make myself at home?”  
  
Jim nodded.  “Of course.  You know where the guest quarters are,” he said simply, propping his hands on his hips.  “If you’ll be okay on your own, there’s a bookstore waiting for us.”  
  
“By all means, go ahead with your date,” Pike agreed, smiling resignedly.  “Book shopping.  Really.  You know how to live it up.”  
  
Jim nodded, grinning widely.  “I’ll see you later, then, Admiral.”  
  
And then, it was all Spock could do to keep up with his husband’s brisk walk, that smile still plastered fetchingly on the human’s lips, and the lack of his fingers on Spock’s still ringing through the Vulcan’s entire being.

  
  
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
It was two weeks before Spock was confronted by Admiral Pike, and while he had the time to prepare for the accusations the man may have for him, the actual confrontation was anything but what he had expected.  Pike had come to his shared quarters while Jim was on-planet.  It was an ordinary, routine mission, one that hardly required Spock at his command desk while off duty, and on Jim’s guidance he’d gone down to relax with one of the books they had purchased at the station.  
  
The admiral’s shoulders were stiff, even as Spock offered to turn down the environmental controls – a happy medium between Vulcan and human norms – to better suit his superior.  And then, the conversation began.  
  
“I don’t have any evidence to either conclusion,” Pike said simply, voice like a child’s.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Spock.  I know it’s not your nature to show your emotions, but make an effort.  If I tell Komack what I know now, he’ll have you both court-martialed for fraud.  You never display any intimacy.  If I didn’t  _know_  you were married, I’d think you were tolerating each other sometimes.”  
  
There was  _concern_  in the man’s voice.  Spock fought not to feel guilty.  “We are frequently and publicly affectionate, Admiral Pike,” he said, some part of his heart suddenly filled with fear.  Loss.  But there was no stimulus for it.  Spock could not explain its presence.  He was silent perhaps a moment too long, hands traveling to his abdomen, where the feeling had started, and to his head, where it migrated.  “I am certain we have displayed intimacy before you.”  
  
Pike’s brow furrowed.  “I assure you, Mr.  Spock, that I have seen no intimacy between you,” he informed him.  A pause, and then, “is something wrong?”

Spock didn’t know immediately how to respond.  Something was certainly wrong, that he knew.  But he could not identify its source or reason – or even what it was. Something was empty within him, something terrifying.  He had never felt fear like this before.  But he merely shook his head, taking a deep (and oddly shaky) breath.  
  
“No, Admiral, I am…fine,” he settled on the word with some hesitation.  The variable definitions of the term suited the situation.  “What have you witnessed between us?”  
  
Pike watched him, eyes displaying some alarm.  “I—okay.  You are always together, but that’s normal for a captain and first officer,” he stated.  He glanced about the room.  “You share your quarters, and I’ll admit it seems appropriate for both of you.  But you never touch.  The most you ever do is brush your fingers, and even then it seems not to affect either of you.  Are you sure you’re all right?”  
  
That fear was definitely growing, and Spock’s mind spun with reasons.  The confrontation?  His own concerns about their relationship?  The marriage bond—  
  
His heart stopped altogether.  
  
The ceremony.  He had almost forgotten that part of the Vulcan tradition.  By ‘completing the union’ as they had, Spock and Jim had forged a bond.  To most already bonded couples, the marriage bond would have been the final piece to strengthen what they had.  In their case, it was the only bond they had, tenuous and small and nearly unnoticeable.  
  
Jim was close to death.  He knew it instantly.  He felt it in him, almost a tangiable loss.  His breath came shorter and shorter, fear racing in his veins, and then—  
  
Spock stood abruptly, the admiral looking to him with some alarm on his face.  “I apologize, Admiral; I must cut this conversation short,” he rushed to get the words out of his mouth.  “We—we may continue later—“  
  
And before he could help it, he was dashing from his chambers.  Jim was back onboard.  Spock was certain of that.  He was vaguely aware of the hum of Pike’s chair following him, more aware when they boarded the turbolift together, heart beating in his ears, drowning out any sound the admiral might have made from that point.  The lift stopped at the medical bay, and with the fear inside him increasing exponentially, he started through the door before it had even finished opening.  
  
He could not even begin to tell himself to control himself.  Nurse Chapel looked startled to see him, the rest of the landing party staring.  But that didn’t matter.  Jim was stretched out on a biobed, red blood staining his skin in all sorts of places.  He was definitely unconscious, chest hardly moving with breath, Dr.  McCoy frantically working—oh, God, working on a  _hole_  in Jim’s abdomen, right above his liver.  
  
“Jim,” he managed, passing the protesting nurses with no effort, immediately at the man’s side.  He intertwined their fingers abruptly, drawing all the contact he could from it.  McCoy ignored him, hands wrist deep in—oh, this couldn’t be.  Jim should never be hurt so badly, should never be so close to death.  
  
He was human.  He was human and so, so fragile.  
  
Never before had Spock honestly hated anything before that moment.  But now, the hate was flowing freely, mixing with the fear and the premature grief and the torrents of worry flowing through his veins.  
  
At once, he hated whatever it was that had done this to Jim.  He hated Starfleet for assuring them this mission would be routine, that there would be no danger.  He hated the human race itself for being so fragile, and—  
  
For a moment, he even hated Jim, who was about to leave him.

He was somewhat aware that he was whispering, though he was not entirely cognizant of what he was saying.  It was Vulcan, Standard, and  _Jim, Jim, Jim, please, not like this_.  
  
He hated this man, could not touch him enough,  _why did it have to be like this_ , so delicate, so broken,  _fight_ , cool skin, labored breathing,  _the bond_ , should have been there with him on that  _routine_  mission, should never have been away from him, time was gone, infinite and gone, and he hated Jim so, so much—  
  
“Jim,” he heard himself whisper hoarsely, not sure how long he’d been there, what anyone had said, not even caring.  “Jim.  Please.  T’hy’la.”  
  
 _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular._

  
  
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>  
  


Spock came to awareness a time later, though he did not know when.  He was seated beside a biobed, but he was certain he had not set himself in a chair when he arrived.  A hollow fear lingered for a moment as he glanced up to the bed, and it was replaced instantly with relief.  Jim, obviously unconscious or asleep, was breathing. Healing.  
  
His fingers were still wound about Spock’s.  
  
On the other side of the bed, McCoy was running a tricorder over Jim, eyes watching the rise and fall of his chest.  The man had dark circles under his eyes, and once he seemed satisfied with whatever the tricorder told him, he let his glance turn to the Vulcan.  Their eyes met.  
  
“His condition?” Spock asked, not at all surprised to hear his voice slightly raspier than usual.  McCoy cocked his head.  
  
“He’s stable,” he murmured.  “It wasn’t a sure thing that he’d make it, and he was pretty touch and go for eighteen hours following the attack, but Jim’s a stubborn bastard.  In case you were wondering, I relieved you of this shift and your next one.  Least I can do after you almost lose your husband and stay up with him twenty-two hours straight.”  
  
Twenty-two hours, then.  He cast his gaze over Jim again, flexing his fingertips against his.  He knew McCoy was watching, but he couldn’t help what he was doing. “When do you estimate he will awaken?”  
  
“He’s got another couple hours before the sedative wears off,” McCoy answered, voice uncharacteristically soft.  “Recovery time is going to be three days.  I could pull out another cot for you, if you’d like to get some rest.”  
  
Spock shook his head.  “Unnecessary,” he murmured, watching Jim’s chest rise and fall.  The easy rhythm it held now was so much different than it was earlier, less labored and infinitely more calming.  Spock had to keep himself from laying a hand on that human chest.  “I require far less sleep than a human.  I will remain here.”  
  
McCoy didn’t respond vocally, instead patting the bed and making his way out of the room.  Spock simply watched Jim sleep for a time, counted his breaths and kept an eye on his vitals.  He didn’t keep track of how much time passed, and when the door opened behind him again he didn’t bother turning around.  
  
“McCoy says he’ll be okay,” Pike’s voice came from the doorway, followed by the hum of his chair.  Spock didn’t reply, not immediately.  Pike was at his side soon enough, quiet for a few long moments.  “He also explained Vulcan displays of affection to me.  I didn’t realize what you were doing was kissing.”  
  
Spock flexed his fingers against Jim’s again.  “You had no way of knowing,” he murmured, still not looking away from his husband.  “It was nothing I had ever discussed with you.”  
  
Jim’s monitor beeped rhythmically, his pulse searing against Spock’s fingers.  How long had they been connected this way?  
  
“I shouldn’t have doubted your relationship,” Pike continued a moment later, unmistakeable guilt in his voice.  Spock felt it echoed in his being, but he suppressed it.  “I honestly thought you married Jim to keep him aboard.  I wasn’t going to report you or anything – but it never occurred to me that you two were actually…well, you may not like hearing it put this way, but I never imagined you were actually in love.  I was wrong, apparently.  I’m sorry.”

Spock shook his head.  “No need to apologize.”  
  
“No, I need to,” Pike implored.  “I didn’t realize you had such a deep bond.  I made light of it.  When you took off like that, I couldn’t figure out what was going on.  And then you led me straight here and it was like the rest of the world didn’t matter anymore.  I’ve never seen you like that before.”  
  
“I apologize for my lack of control,” he replied.  “I will endeavor to prevent it from occurring again.”  
  
Pike chuckled to his side.  “You don’t need to apologize either, Spock,” he said pointedly.  “It’s natural to rush to the side of the person you care most about when they need you.”  
  
His voice came out of its own volition, and Spock couldn’t bring himself to deny it or attempt to stop it.  
  
“The person you  _love_ , Admiral,” he heard himself whisper.  “The person you  _love_  most in the world.”  
  


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes after Pike left when Jim began to awaken.  Spock watched it happen – the change in his breathing, the shifting of his limbs, his eyes clenching – and to his relief, Jim looked first at him.  
  
“Spock,” he rasped, flinching slightly.  His hand went to his stomach.  “Thought that…was you.”  
  
Spock nodded, still touching Jim’s fingertips on his other hand.  “Who else would I have been?”  
  
Jim started to chuckle, but it was cut off when the pain in his abdomen apparently flared up.  He took an extra moment to recover, and then he met Spock’s eyes.  “Sorry I made you worry so much.  I didn’t know that would happen.”  
  
“Do not apologize,” Spock told him firmly, but then his gaze faltered.  He found he could no longer look at Jim’s blue eyes.  “I am the one who needs apologize.  When I came here and found you in the condition you were, I fell out of control.  I do not recall what I said or did, but I do know that I found myself thinking that I hated you.  I do not know how I could have ever thought such a thing.  I was mistaken in doing so.”  
  
Jim let out a breath.  “Don’t worry,” he assured him.  “I know you love me.”  
  
And Spock froze, eyes lighting on Jim’s again.  There was no joke there – only some degree of emotion Spock was not familiar with.  He forced himself to pull his fingers away from Jim’s, all capability of speech temporarily failing him.  
  
“I could hear everything when you were talking to Pike,” Jim murmured.  “And before that, I could feel it.  I don’t know how – I just knew you were here.  It was this rush of emotion – not a mind meld, but a strong enough connection.  You’re in love with me.  Have been for a long while.”  
  
Spock regained control.  “I am sorry,” he whispered.  
  
Jim didn’t respond with words.  He simply reached out his hand and found Spock’s again, stroking paired fingers firmly.  He twined their hands together after a moment, bringing Spock’s to rest on his chest – on his heart.  Spock could not respond immediately.  And then, only then, did Jim speak again.  
  
“Kiss me the human way, you overloyal sonofabitch,” he demanded, and Spock could not help but oblige.  
  
As their lips met, Spock contemplated what this would mean.  The steps he would have to take to ensure this would not leave him heartbroken as he had known before it would.  The move from faking an emotional and mental bond to creating and nurturing one.  He thought of bonding them, of melding and joining their minds in all possible ways, of the ramifications of their shared bed and the physical need they shared.  
  
“Stop thinking,” Jim murmured.  
  
And for once, Spock did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversations about mpreg contained within.

They did not consummate their marriage when Jim returned to their rooms at last, as such a thing would have been impossible in his condition.  They did not consummate it in the following days, or even after Jim had completely recovered and they were on their way to another system.  
  
They did not consummate it.  
  
Spock was not entirely upset by the lack of sexual contact.  Bizarrely, he found himself relieved.  He and Jim had not spoken of their relationship since he had been released from sickbay, although a few crewmates had approached Spock to discuss nothings with him, his emotional state and how happy they were ‘for him’.  Admiral Pike had promised, when they dropped him off, to take them to dinner next time they were at his station, and Jim had accepted.  
  
Spock endured a month of this, not willing to make the next move.  It would be out of order.  Jim knew already how Spock perceived him, knew it better than Spock had ever conceived he might.  It was the captain’s turn to make a move.  
  
Perhaps in not moving, he already had.  
  
At the end of that month, they passed through New Vulcan’s system, and it became apparent that they would be delivering supplies to the colonists.  It was Jim, strangely enough, who seemed most excited.  
  
“We’re visiting Keilok while we’re there, right?” he asked quite plainly on the bridge the day before they were to beam down.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  For what purpose could Jim seek to converse with his other self when he would not, in fact, converse extensively with his husband?  “I mean, he  _married_  us, Spock.  Best let him see how we’re doing, yeah?”  
  
Spock fought not to argue to opposite.  
  
“If he is not otherwise occupied, I think a visit would be in order,” he managed to say evenly, making heroic efforts to ignore that they were having this conversation in front of everyone.  “I had intended to visit the new academy.  I have been assured that it is no less remarkable than the previous.”  
  
 _Than the original,_  he forced himself not to say.  
  
Jim had a smirk that seemed to cover his entire face.  “Figures,” he said, tone recognizably playful.  “The Vulcan race has an entire planet to do whatever they want with, and the first thing they do is build an academy.  So very predictable.”  
  
Spock turned his attention to his consol.  “It was a logical course of action to ensure the betterment of the species, especially in this juncture in time,” he explained bluntly.  “We will arrive in New Vulcan’s atmosphere in approximately 14.4 hours, at which time I will open a channel with the council.  We should be able to determine whether Councilor Keilok will be available to meet with us.”  
  
Jim did not respond, attention diverted by a message from sick bay.  It was a lack of response that, for once, Spock appreciated.

It was in their chambers that night, 1.5 hours outside New Vulcan with the chessboard between them, that Jim finally had  _that_  conversation.  
  
“You kiss really soft,” he said offhand, claiming a pawn.  “Check.”  
  
Spock was only taken aback for a moment.  “Softly,” he corrected, placing a bishop between the threatening piece and his king.  “You are intelligent enough to discern when it is appropriate to use an adverb rather than an adjective, Jim.  And at the time you were recovering from a tear in your abdomen.  For most species, the light pressure exerted would have been appreciated.”  
  
Jim frowned, though whether it was from Spock’s words or his play escaped the Vulcan.  He considered the board, glancing between the levels.  “Okay, so it was a memorable kiss,” he admitted.  “And you were very logical about it.  Ball’s in my court now, right?”  
  
“It is indeed your move, Captain,” Spock replied.  He gestured openly towards the chessboard.  Jim scowled.  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
Spock hesitated only a moment.  “I will not pressure you into something you do not wish,” he said, watching Jim move his pieces.  “That particular move, Jim, will put you into check.”  
  
“Oh, so it will,” Jim realized, moving it back.  Spock usually did not permit this, but today seemed worthy of exception.  “I know we’re supposed to be together, Spock. The other Spock melded with me once.  I saw it.  I just don’t know if I can be what the other me was.  Check.”  
  
Spock glanced over the board.  “And what was the other you, Jim?”  
  
“Perfect,” he answered bluntly.  Spock couldn’t help the surprise that coursed through their tenuous bond.  It slipped past his barriers with no warning.  Jim met his eyes, looking exhausted.  “The other me was  _perfect_ , Spock.  He was mature, loyal, affectionate, and everyone loved him.  Everyone wanted to be him.  I’m none of that.”  
  
Wordlessly, Spock shook his head, moving his rook and tipping Jim’s king.  “Checkmate,” he said unnecessarily.  Jim’s insecurity wound about his consciousness tightly, cutting into him like a wire.  He knew he should reassure it, but methods escaped him.  And so he just spoke.  
  
“A Vulcan will always see his bondmate as perfect, Jim,” he told him.  “You are handsome, young, strong, and charismatic.  You are honest to a greater degree than most humans.  You express all emotion readily and display an extraordinary understanding of the inherent nature of most individuals.  It would not be incorrect to state that a majority of Starfleet at the very least admires your character.”  
  
Jim was silent for a little too long.  “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Spock.”  
  
Spock tilted his head, meeting Jim’s eyes once more.  “I would not have proposed to marry you if I thought you anything less than extraordinary, Jim,” he informed him. “I will not say anything further on this subject.”  
  
Jim stood, pacing around so that he was beside Spock’s seat.  Spock turned his head to face him, and the man leaned down to press their lips together.  The Vulcan indulged him easily, tilting his jaw to accommodate him better.  Their mouths slid together chastely for a moment, Jim falling back briefly and surveying Spock’s face.  
  
And then his lips were back on his, moving harder.  Spock tried to pull back, but then Jim’s hands were on his face, pulling him closer and angling him.  A cool tongue slipped between Spock’s lips, nudging at his teeth, while fingers slipped between his own, stroking them insistently.

Two minutes later, Spock couldn’t have explained to anyone how Jim had managed to pull both their shirts off without breaking the kiss or exactly when they had made it to the bed, but both had happened.  Jim had him pinned to the bed now, one hand mapping out his now bare chest as the other continued stroking his fingers.  Their hips were pressed together, hard, insistent, moving in a slow grind, moving to the same rhythm as their tongues.  
  
Spock could no longer think.  
  
He carded his free hand through Jim’s hair, body singing with pleasure, with completeness.  He longed so strongly to bond them now, to just connect their minds and let instinct take over.  It would be pleasurable, he knew.  Pleasurable beyond measure.  All it would take was a simple touch of their minds, and it would form itself around them.  It would be so simple.  
  
The door to their quarters opened, abruptly cutting that train of thought off just as Spock had brought his hand to Jim’s face, unconsciously seeking out the meld points he would have needed to bond them.  McCoy’s voice reached him in vulgar expletives.  
  
Never had Spock been so pleased to hear such words before.  
  
“Goddamn it, Jim, I know you’re insatiable, but this is  _ridiculous_!” the man exclaimed.  Jim grudgingly pulled his body off of Spock’s.  Spock attempted to gracefully rise to his elbows, glancing up at the flushed human who seconds ago had him pinned.  “I mean, how often do you need it?  We all noticed how Spock was limping today. Give him a break!”  
  
Humans did perceive only what they wanted or expected to see, Spock supposed.  Jim, for his part, slid off Spock completely, expression twisted.  
  
“What do you need, Bones?” he asked, voice rough.  The doctor raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Communication for Spock,” he said simply, glancing at the Vulcan.  “That is, if he’s up for it.”  
  
Spock retrieved his shirt from next to the bed, pulling it on quickly and attempting to quell his arousal.  He brushed two fingers against Jim’s as he left the bed, nodding apologetically at McCoy.  “I will return soon,” he promised, though he had no intention of allowing the situation to turn like that again.  McCoy obviously thought he meant otherwise, groaning.  
  
“Take a break, you two,” he muttered, steering himself out of the room.  
  
The communication channel in the private bay needed only to have Spock’s password keyed in, and once that was completed, his father’s face met him.  He nodded in acknowledgment.  
  
“Father,” he murmured.  “I assume you are attempting to arrange a meeting for us when I beam down to the planet?”  
  
“That assumption would be in error,” Sarek informed him.  “I will not be able to meet with you while you are on planet.  However, it has been brought to my attention that the Male Carrier Technique has been approved for use in humanoid species.  As you agreed to provide an heir using this technique, I request that you or your mate undergo the procedure as soon as possible.”  
  
Spock’s mouth dried, and he was immediately thankful that McCoy had not accompanied him inside.  “Father, the timing is  _difficult_  for us, at best,” he protested. “Would you risk your grandchild growing to maturity on a ship?  Do you wish him surrounded by humans during his formative years?  Am I to provide an heir when the planet he will call home is not yet colonized?  I do not see the logic in rushing this.”

Sarek’s face remained passive.  “I do not ask that you attempt to conceive immediately, Spock,” he stated, eyes locked with his son’s on the monitor.  “It is merely logical to be prepared in advance for when you choose to procreate.  The odds of conception increased over time in many of the test subjects, and contraception is simple enough to procure.  As you are Vulcan, the surgery must be performed on New Vulcan, and it is ambiguous at best when next you will return.  It is only logical to undergo the procedure during this visit.”  
  
Spock attempted to find a fallacy in his logic.  Finding none that he would be incapable of rebutting, he nodded.  It wasn’t as though he and Jim were intimate, and even assuming they began a sexual relationship, the contraceptives would prevent any unwanted pregnancy.  There would be no unintended pregnancy.  
  
There was very little probability of an intended pregnancy as well, he admitted to himself.  But he found nothing wrong with this.  
  
“I will discuss this with Jim,” he conceded.  “I will alert you as to our decision as to who will become the Carrier.”  
  
“That is most logical,” Sarek acknowledged.  “Rest.”  
  
Spock cut off the communication channel and exited, finding McCoy waiting.  “Going to go finish up with Jim?” he drawled, looking like he really didn’t want to know.  Spock paused.  
  
“I will need discuss something of great importance with him,” he replied.  “Good night, Doctor.”

  
  
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
Jim’s eyes were almost absurdly wide, Spock found himself noticing.  His mouth as well, as though he no longer had any control over his musculature.  He likely didn’t.  It took a few tries before the man was able to speak.  
  
“Your dad wants to put a  _uterus_  in one of us?” he managed, voice only squeaking slightly.  Spock shook his head.  
  
“While the prosthetic does behave in a manner similar to the female uterus, I can assure you that it is in no way related to those found in women,” he informed him, unease building in his back.  “As I mentioned before, this is not for the purposes of immediate conception.  He merely wishes the surgery be performed—”  
  
“Performed ASAP ‘cause he’s itching for grandkids,” Jim muttered.  “Christ, Spock.  I didn’t sign up for this.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow.  “We are not sexually involved,” he pointed out.  Jim sighed.  
  
“We would’ve been, if Bones hadn’t interrupted,” he grumbled.  Spock attempted not to correct him and only barely succeeded.  “Look, Spock.  I want to sleep with you.  But I can’t do it if I think one of us is gonna get pregnant from it.”  
  
The Vulcan nodded.  “Indeed, the possibility of conception is likely to decrease your sex drive,” he agreed.  “However, Vulcan contraceptives have a failure rate of 0.0000082%, Jim.  We have a higher chance of being pulled into an alternate dimension than conceiving while on those contraceptives.”  
  
Jim still looked doubtful, but Spock was certain this would work out.  And Jim wished a sexual relationship between them – it seemed nearly too good to be true.  He would have Jim’s affection and his body, and that would have to be enough.  
  
Even if he wanted his mind.  Even if he wanted more than affection – even if he wanted love.  
  
“If we’re doing this, you’re getting the procedure done,” Jim finally said, voice firm, eyes locked on the Vulcan’s.  “You wouldn’t forget the protection like I would.  And besides, this way your father leaves us alone, right?  He won’t look up loopholes in Vulcan marriage law to annul the marriage this way, right?”  
  
“There are no loopholes in Vulcan marriage law,” Spock could not help but say.  And then he added, begrudgingly “But yes, I expect this will permit us to remain married until your citizenship is permanent.  After that, you may do as you see fit.”  
  
Jim eyed him for a moment, and then Spock found himself being led to bed.  “Long day tomorrow,” Jim muttered, a hint of anger in his voice.  “Let’s get some sleep.”  
  
But no matter what he tried, lying beside Jim in the total dark, sleep did not come.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People finally start having sex in this chapter.

It was decided that Jim would spend time with ‘Keilok’ while Spock was having the procedure done.  Spock refrained from voicing any opposition, and although Jim was expected to meet with the Ambassador some ten minutes after he was scheduled to check in and the quickest route to their meeting place would take some fifteen minutes, the human accompanied Spock to the hospital.  The move confused Spock more than he was willing to admit, but he accepted the gesture.  Once he’d been checked in, however, Jim kissed him the human and Vulcan way and excused himself, jogging out of the building in the direction of the council building.  
  
The procedure was performed under general anesthetic, and he drifted within his own mind for a time.  
  
He remembered his mother’s voice, singing a Terran birthday song for him a capella, insisting that he blow out the candles, and despite his protests he had found himself doing as she’d asked.  
  
He remembered Jim on the biobed, hovering between life and death and the coolness of his hand in Spock’s.  The way he’d lifted his hand over his heart, pressed against him there, how he’d demanded that human kiss of Spock and prevented all thoughts.  
  
And then, a fantastical image of them properly bonded, of the strength of their connection pressing against their consciousnesses.  It would only firm the caresses of Jim’s hands against Spock’s skin, would give then the spiraling high of their joining a new depth, another dimension humans could not imagine.  It would let them remain together, even when they were apart.  It would…it would…  
  
Spock awoke to a scanner being run over his abdomen, his doctor informing him frankly of how the surgery had gone and indicating on the screen where the implant had been placed.  Spock nodded through the explanation, awaiting the allotted time for his inquiries.  When at last it arrived, he started.  
  
“The odds of conception at present, assuming standard intercourse with a human male?” he queried, propped up and already delving into his own body to seek out the change.  
  
“Forty-two point eight percent,” the doctor stated, nodding permission for the next question.  
  
“Odds of conception with the use of contraceptives?”  
  
“Negligible.”  
  
“Exact?”  
  
“0.0000082%.”  
  
Precisely the same as with females, then, Spock acknowledged.  “Possible complications of receiving the implant?”  
  
“Mild tenderness in the abdomen.”  
  
“Hormonal differences?”  
  
“Negligible until a zygote implants itself.”  
  
“Affect on the bondmate?”  
  
“Negligible.”  
  
Spock finally located the implant, wrapping his mind around it curiously.  It did not seem at all artificial.  “Fertility cycle exempting the use of contraceptives?”  
  
“One viable ovum produced every two months with capacity to be fertilized for two point two weeks,” the doctor replied.  “Given your mixed blood, however, there is a possibility the ovum will only have the capacity to be fertilized for one point eight weeks.”

Spock nodded.  “Method of elimination of unfertilized ovum?”  
  
“The unfertilized ovum will break down and be eliminated in the liver.”  
  
“Chances of conception at two months, ten months, and two years from the date of implantation?”  
  
“Forty-nine point two, fifty-five point nine, and seventy-three point three respectively.”  
  
“Length of fertility?”  
  
“Immeasurable,” the doctor stated.  “The implant will convert one cell to an ovum every two months.  The cell itself will undergo meiosis as would any other, but only the most genetically favorable cell will be released as to be fertilized.”  
  
Spock considered this for a long moment.  “Thank you, Doctor.  I have no further questions.”  
  
The doctor left him to dress, which he did promptly, and on his way out he stopped by the pharmacy.  
  
If he and Jim were to engage in a sexual relationship, he had best be prepared.  
  
Surprisingly, Jim met him at the door with Keilok beside him.  Spock raised an eyebrow, but made no immediate comment.  Doing such would have been impossible, he imagined, especially given how Jim was suddenly encroaching on his personal space and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, stroking his fingers gently.  Spock almost believed it to be genuine.  
  
“How’d it go?” he asked.  Unsure whether Keilok had been informed, Spock considered his options – and decided not to avoid stating the obvious.  
  
“I am fertile,” he stated plainly.  “And I have obtained contraceptives.”  
  
“Good,” Jim confirmed.  He pecked his lips once more before turning to Spock’s older self.  “Sorry I dragged you out here, Ambassador.  Do you still want to have tea with us?”  
  
The elder Spock nodded.  “That would please me greatly,” he said, voice betraying the honesty of the statement.  “There is a facility near here that serves a great variety of beverages.  I believe you will approve of the selection.”  
  
Spock found himself sitting astride Jim some ten minutes later, the human sipping an iced beverage while the two half-Vulcans gripped their tea in precisely the same manner.  If Keilok had any opinions on Spock’s procedure, he kept them to himself, instead discussing life on the Enterprise with the two of them.  Something in Spock told him that the older man was reliving his years on the ship, and he endeavored to give him as accurate a view as he could of his current status on board.  
  
Jim endeavored to give him too accurate a view of their current status.  
  
“Everything’s been going pretty awesomely lately, I have to say,” Jim was mentioning, taking a long drink.  “But Sarek’s timing sucks.  Spock and I had just started getting it—”  
  
“Inappropriate,” Spock interrupted, setting down his tea abruptly.  “I am certain the Ambassador does not need to be informed as to that  _particular_  aspect of ship life any more than the other customers of this establishment.”  
  
Keilok merely let the corners of his mouth twitch up, however briefly.  “It is something with which I am already quite well-versed, Spock,” he informed him.  “You need not be so affected.”  
  
Spock pondered if he might be less affected if he was in a sexual relationship with his captain.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Jim had stated that he desired a sexual relationship with Spock, but Spock had not taken it completely seriously until that night, Jim’s hands sliding under his shirt, pulling him without hesitation towards the bed.  Spock could not bring himself to fight it, instead working the shirt off his own back, chest to chest with his husband.  
  
 _His mate._  
  
Their mouths locked then, and any control Spock might’ve had was gone.  He cupped Jim’s face and pulled it towards himself, using every scrap of skill he possessed to strip the man’s mind completely, running his tongue everywhere he could.  It was heady, thrilling, possessive – he could  _taste_  the iron under the flesh, the remnants of coffee, the breaths that didn’t quite make it out of him.  His hands were everywhere, running over every available bit of flesh, and finally they buried themselves in Jim’s hair, holding him to the kiss.  
  
Spock felt Jim tugging at the fastenings of his regulation issue slacks, palming his genitals through them.   _Immeasurably pleasing_ , he wanted to say, but all he managed was a low exhalation that seemed to deliver the message just as effectively.  He must have been distracted longer than he realized, because what seemed a moment later Jim was pressing him into the bed, biting up his jawline and nipping at his ear.  
  
It took Spock a few seconds to realize that Jim had managed to undress both of them without him even noticing.  He allowed himself to glance over his husband’s body, taking in the smooth chest, flat nipples – and below that, the pink genitals at full attention, held carefully above his own.   _Exotic_ , he thought, and that was the last conscious thought he had for a long while.  
  
Jim played the chords of his body seemingly effortlessly, a constant and exponentially increasing vein of pleasure humming through Spock’s being, right up until two fingers found their way into Spock’s body.  He stilled, eyes meeting Jim’s.  
  
“The contraceptives I procured will not activate for forty-eight hours,” he said, feeling the utter disappointment course through him.  He should’ve thought of it sooner.  Jim merely smirked.  
  
“You think I didn’t know that?” he asked, breathless.  One hand slipped into the drawer next to the bed, coming up with a square package.  “Condoms.  Might be old-fashioned, but they work.  No allergies, right?”  
  
Spock shook his head.  “Allergies are usually your problem,” he pointed out, reaching down to stroke Jim, a front to map out the length he would be taking.  Bulky, but not unmanageable.  He ignored the feeling in him that said not to do this until Jim was sure what he wanted.  
  
Jim just scissored his fingers, working Spock open quickly, but thoroughly.  Spock mostly ran his hands over that hairless chest, examining it with some aroused fascination.  All men on Vulcan had chest hair in abundance, and the lack of hair on his mate’s chest was as exotic as his red blood and pink genitalia.  He let his lips run over the rounded ear, up to the even eyebrows, rested his hands on the man’s chest, feeling the heart beat there.  
  
He had almost forgotten Jim was a different species.  
  
It was pushed from his mind when the fingers left him and the condom was pressed into his hand.  He met Jim’s eyes, taking in his expression.  Spock couldn’t identify it.  Not right now, not straining with physical need and an emotion he couldn’t understand in his own mind.  He simply opened the packet, reached down, and with a slow inhale rolled the condom onto his partner.  
  
“Sorry this couldn’t be as good as you deserve,” he thought he heard Jim say, but before he could attempt to confirm it, there was pressure at his entrance, and then—  
  
 _Perfection._

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Spock could count on one hand the number of sexual partners he had before Jim, he realized in the shower later.  This was not a source of shame for him. Rather, it was the lack of  _positive_  sexual experiences he had previously had that proved a source of any negative emotion.  He had thought that the simple release of semen was enough to constitute ‘good sex’.  
  
He was now inclined to change his opinion on the matter.  He had never orgasmed so powerfully that the world itself seemed to slip away.  He had never been so engaged in the activity that he had forgotten his vocal control, had never felt himself so thoroughly milked.  
  
Perhaps it was a side-effect of the procedure.  
  
Once content with his physical state, he emerged from the shower, pausing for a moment before merely slipping on a pair of regulation exercise pants and exiting the bathroom.  Jim was still stretched out naked on the bed, that hairless chest on display again.  Their eyes met.  
  
“Human custom,” Jim said softly, gesturing at his side.  “Come here?”  
  
Spock approached, slipping into bed with his husband.  It was not necessarily customary, Spock knew.  Nyota had never wanted to do this.  She claimed ‘cuddling’ was an emotional crutch or a heavy handed show of affection.  Spock had agreed.  There was no benefit to holding one another post-coitus.  
  
But Jim wanted it – wanted that display of affection – and Spock could not deny him anything.  
  
He curled into Jim’s arms, not comfortable, but not uncomfortable either.  They neither moved nor spoke, not for a long while.  
  
“I want better for you,” Jim murmured.  Spock tried not to react, though his heart rate did increase incrementally.  Another pause, and then he continued. “My mom ‘fell in love’ with my stepdad, married him, and spent ten months a year off planet.  My brother ‘fell in love’ with a girl when he was sixteen, got her pregnant, and even seven years after their divorce, they’re still fighting for custody.  Bones ‘fell in love’ with his wife, and when that ended he wound up going the one place he hated most – space.”  
  
Spock considered these things.  “You are concerned that you will follow this pattern?” he inquired, pulse quickening again.  He could feel his heart in his abdomen and was somehow thankful Jim’s hands were on his chest and shoulder.  
  
“Spock, I’ve loved before.  But I’ve never  _fallen_  in love, and I’m scared shitless that I’m going to  _fall_  in love with you,” Jim whispered.  Spock tried not to tense. Affection only.  He had known that before.  “And every time I fucking look at you, I have ten seconds of thinking how amazing you are, and then I just get fucking terrified.  You deserve better.”  
  
Spock contemplated it again, trying not to think about how illogical the man’s statement was.  He had to be making a great effort to share this, and it was the Vulcan’s responsibility to reply in a manner respectful of his needs.  
  
“If you are afraid of a sudden onset of affection, perhaps allowing the process to occur slowly could be a solution,” he offered.  Jim was silent.  He tried another tactic.  “Jim, I will be content with whatever you can offer me.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be,” Jim whispered, and he tightened his arms around the other man.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to potential non-con in this chapter

Six months passed with few changes in their arrangement.  Their days went the same, for the most part.  Breakfast, bridge, chess, sex, sleep.  Spock told himself he was content, that there was no problem with that he was doing.  He was professionally and sexually satisfied with the arrangement, and they easily convinced the crew that what they had was legitimate.  
  
Facing down impartial members of his own species?  Not so easy.  
  
When diplomats Stonn and Saron first stepped aboard, saluting their fellow Vulcan, there had been no immediate indications of suspicion.  They greeted Jim, Dr. McCoy, and then, when they approached Spock, Stonn’s nostrils flared.  
  
“It has been a long while, Spock,” the man said carefully, gesturing Saron back with one hand.  The smaller Vulcan acquiesced, and Spock could easily recognize the confused look Jim and the doctor shared.  Stonn leaned forward, sniffing boldly at Spock’s shoulder.  He leaned back again, meeting his eyes.  “You smell…fertile. Desirable.”  
  
Jim tensed in Spock’s peripheral vision.  “Indeed,” Spock said, a slight unease building in him.  “Welcome aboard, Stonn.”  
  
With no regard for privacy, Stonn raised a hand, palm facing the half-Vulcan.  “I wish to breed you.”  
  
“I must refuse,” Spock declined, keeping his own hands firmly behind his back.  He could feel the stare McCoy had directed at him, the flare of anger that escaped through the marriage bond from Jim.  “Although I recognize the need for an increase in Vulcan births, I have responsibilities elsewhere.  Even if this was not the case, however, I am already bonded and married, and would not seek to bear the child of anyone but my bondmate.”  
  
Stonn lowered his hand.  “I see,” he said, eyes not leaving Spock’s.  “Your spouse?”  
  
“That’d be me,” Jim called over, raising his hand.  Stonn glanced him over, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.  A protective instinct washed over Spock, and Jim must’ve sensed it through the bond.  “Oh, come on, Spock.  He’s not going to hurt me.  Anyway, Stonn, welcome aboard this ship.  I hope it can accommodate your needs until we arrive in Sector Four.”  
  
Stonn did not immediately reply.  And when he did, it was in a tone a human might not recognize as confused, but it was evident to Spock.  “Captain, your husband is fertile and Vulcan is in need of repopulation.  Why have you not bred him yet?”  
  
Jim was quiet for a long moment, and then he simply said, “Stonn, not everything should be based on logic.”  
  
Without another word, Jim beckoned Spock to follow him, and Spock did exactly that.  They made it back to their rooms silently, and once they were there, Jim’s lips were against his collarbone, nibbling.  Arousal stirred in Spock’s groin, but he subdued it.  
  
“Fertile?” Jim murmured against Spock’s shoulder.  
  
“My contraceptives are undetectable through any method other than a blood test, but I assure you that they are working,” Spock answered.  “You needn’t be concerned that you may impregnate me.  The odds are very much against this.”  
  
Jim pressed a kiss to his neck and pulled back.  “Why was Stonn so insistent that you be bred?”  
  
Spock hesitated for a moment.  “The population of surviving Vulcans is just over nine thousand,” he replied.  “Any fertile Vulcans are being asked to breed at this time to ensure the survival of our species.”  
  
Jim looked him in the eye.  “I can’t help you there.  Not now.”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock agreed, thankful for Jim’s reticence.  “I am not so concerned that Stonn will attempt further persuasion.  However, Saron’s scent is indicative of a…condition that may become a complication should we be delayed to Sector Four.”  
  
Jim nodded, and then smirked.  “Say ‘indicative’ again.”  
  
“Indicative,” Spock murmured, and Jim tugged him to the bed with him.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Spock did not clean himself out as thoroughly as he usually did once Jim finished inside of him.  He allowed some of Jim’s essence to remain within him as a deterrent for Saron.  The younger male was entering Pon Farr – no doubt it would be his first, and without giving a physical indication that he was taken, Spock’s apparent ‘fertility’ could prompt an attack.  
  
He did not wish to have to report such a thing when they arrived in Sector Four.  
  
He joined Jim in bed some time later, allowing Jim to hold him close, as always.  Tonight seemed so different, somehow.  His arms were strangely loose around Spock, his nose repeatedly nudging his ear.  “Could you meld with me?” he finally asked, and Spock forgot how to breathe for a moment.  
  
“Are you certain?” he asked, heart beating frantically in his abdomen.  Jim turned him around, pulling his hand to his head.  Spock felt himself swallow unnecessarily, positioning his fingers against the meld points, looking Jim in the eye again.  Jim nodded, and Spock closed his eyes, passing into Jim’s mind easily.  
  
It was a whirl of color, brightness and darkness all swirled together, all loud and quiet and fast and slow and dizzying and  _Jim_  all over.  He understood at once the troubled relationships he’d seen, the end of so many and the grief the end of life brought.  All sorts of emotions flew at him, the depth of them enough to disorient the Vulcan.  Confusion, apprehension, contentment, dissatisfaction, fear—  
  
 _You feel me, Jim?_  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Warmth.  Affection.  But wrapped almost indivisibly with that affection was  _fear_.  Almost irrevocably interwoven.  
  
 _Jim._  
  
 _What?_  
  
 _If I do not withdraw, I will bind us.  A life bond.  Let go of me._  
  
 _I’m not holding on._  
  
 _Jim.  Please.  Release my mind before the process is irreversible._  
  
 _I don’t know how._  
  
Slowly, carefully, Spock pulled back from Jim’s mind as best he could, a single piece of the meld held by Jim’s mind.   _You must release my mind, Jim._  
  
 _I wish I could._  
  
It took some instruction, but at last Jim was able to release that last tendril of connection, loosing it from the embrace Jim had unconsciously held it in.  They emerged from the meld, Spock’s hand dropping to pull Jim’s chin into a kiss.  A cleared throat caught their attention, and Spock looked over his shoulder to find Stonn in the doorway, a hand on the frame.

 

“Is there a reason you have invaded our quarters, Stonn?” he inquired, minutely stressing the ‘our’.  The other Vulcan was still.  
  
“Might I approach?”  
  
Jim confirmed it across the bond, and Spock nodded, sitting up in the bed.  Stonn seated himself aside the chessboard, seemingly unaffected by their state of undress. “Take care not to jostle any of the pieces,” Spock warned him.  “We had not yet finished our game.”  
  
Stonn’s nostrils flared again.  “He has seeded you,” he observed.  “Are you not attempting to breed?”  
  
“We are not,” Spock informed him.  “Please refrain from observations of so private a nature.”  
  
Stonn nodded.  “I work as a direct aide to Ambassador Sarek,” he stated abruptly.  “As a personal favor, he asked that I attempt to persuade you to provide an heir to your family.  If it is because of your bondmate’s reluctance to father a child, I will offer myself as an alternative.  The infant would return with me to New Vulcan.  You would never need concern yourself with its affairs again.”  
  
“Unacceptable,” Spock answered simply.  “I have already expressed that I am only willing to provide a child to my bondmate.  Inform my father that he will need be patient.”  
  
“Your bondmate does not appreciate the circumstances we are under,” Stonn accused flatly.  “For him to delay breeding you is selfish and unnecessary.  You must understand the necessity of increasing our population.  Please work to convince him.”  
  
Spock placed a calming hand on Jim’s shoulder as anger flitted through their small bond.  “It is my reluctance which prompts me to utilize contraceptives, Stonn,” he informed him, rubbing Jim’s shoulder absently.  “While Jim has expressed that he does not wish to start our family so soon in our marriage, he was not the one who made the ultimate decision.  Until we are able to provide the environment in which our child would flourish, I will continue to use contraceptives.  I am certain you understand the logic in this.”  
  
Stonn’s lips were a thin line.  “I fear your perceived fertility is drawing Saron’s condition to fullness at an alarming rate,” he stated, voice flat.  “Do not allow yourself to be alone with him.  His fever may begin soon.”  
  
Stonn left with that warning, and Spock laid back down beside his husband.  He would have preferred to spend the time after their meld in peace, but such a thing seemed trivial now.  Jim raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly.  
  
“You gonna explain to me about the ‘condition’?” the human asked.  Spock tugged the blankets back up.  
  
“I will maintain my distance from Saron,” he murmured.  “Sleep.”

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

The next day found Spock recording the dilithium intake in Engine Room 4 during beta shift.  It was a tedious task, one performed only once every six months, and were it not for a rather unfortunate (and highly advanced) case of Rhygillian flu, Scott would be the one responsible for ensuring its completion.  But it did not bother Spock to complete tasks so dependent on full concentration; rather, he found it to be an appropriate use of his superior skill in that area.  A logical choice.  
  
The room was isolated as well, barely six feet by six feet.  It was hardly used, aside from situations requiring auxillary power.  Two hours in, Spock’s data was showing no unusual readings.  
  
The first indication that anything was out of the ordinary came when the door opened.  
  
“Saron,” Spock greeted, hand going to his communicator.  He had promised Jim to avoid the younger Vulcan, and he had no intentions of breaking that particular promise.  “I believe you are scheduled to study the arboretum this shift.  Do you have business here?”  
  
The young Vulcan – too young, he couldn’t be more than twenty – crossed his arms behind his back.  “Stonn wishes to speak with you,” he informed him, maintaining his distance carefully.  “I am certain you are aware of my condition, and I expect you will understand if I do not elaborate further.”  
  
“Indeed, that would be unnecessary,” Spock agreed, body still tense.  Prepared.  “Please tell Stonn that I will meet him at 1600 hours in the crew recreation room.”  
  
“Acknowledged,” Saron nodded, and without any further words, he stepped out of the room and shut the door.  Spock did not relax, although the threat was gone for the moment.  He flipped his communicator open.  
  
“Captain.  Saron has approached in engineering room four.  Spock requesting assistance,” he said simply.  There was a long quiet, and then Jim answered.  
  
“Keenser is on his way.  He’s just about the only one we can spare at the moment; turns out Scotty’s flu is pretty damn contagious,” he replied.  “You open communication with the bridge if anything happens, okay?  No matter how small.”  
  
Spock confirmed and shut off the communicator, and a few minutes later, Keenser was stepping into the room.  Another hour passed with no disturbances, but Spock was not about to drop his guard, not with Saron so rapidly deteriorating towards Plak Tow.  The smaller being was not the most logical choice for back up, but Spock did not anticipate him needing to take action.  Should Saron attack, Spock estimated his strength to be more than adequate to prevent unintended consequences.  
  
He knew the moment Saron reentered the room, ears catching the swing of the door and the rush of footsteps.  He caught him with a neck pinch before he could complete the length of the room, wincing only slightly as something caught on his thigh.  A quick glance down revealed an empty hypo in Saron’s limp hand.  Spock turned to Keenser, handing him his PADD and gathering the smaller Vulcan over his shoulder, opening his communicator with his free hand.  
  
“Spock to bridge,” he stated mechanically, pulse increased incrementally.  “Attempted assault by diplomat Saron.  Extremely likely to have been caused by a bio-chemical reaction.  I am escorting him to sick bay.  Details will follow when available.”

The message was finished by the time Spock made it to the turbolift, and in a few seconds, he found himself face to face with Stonn, who extricated the smaller Vulcan from Spock’s grip.  “Your doctor is waiting to see you,” he stated.  “I will bring Saron to our quarters.  I believe a sedative should suffice in controlling him until we arrive in Sector Four.”  
  
Spock nodded, and Stonn walked past, a hypo in hand.  McCoy was indeed waiting, gesturing at a biobed.  The half-Vulcan raised an eyebrow.  “An examination will not be necessary, Doctor.”  
  
“Jim insisted,” Bones deadpanned.  “And the hole in your pants says something happened.  Mind telling me what?”  
  
Spock surrendered the hypo Saron had used on him, wordless.  The doctor scanned it, frowning.  
  
“I don’t know what this is,” he confessed, watching the screen form the 3-dimensional model of the chemical structure of the remnants of the compound.  “Your own damned luck.  I’m gonna have to perform a physical.”  
  
Normally, Spock would have refused, but he understood the consequences of being injected with any unknown substance.  He obediently sat on the biobed as McCoy scanned him over.  
  
“Blood pressure ridiculously low, pulse damn racing,” the doctor said.  “Perfectly normal, at least for you.  I’m gonna run a blood test, assuming that green stuff in your veins is blood.”  
  
The sample was taken easily, and McCoy scanned through the results.  “Any abnormalities?” Spock asked, hands on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Besides the fact that your blood is copper-based?” McCoy drawled.  “Elevated levels of progesterone and testosterone, and you’re got a little adrenaline in you.  A little exciting for you, Mr.  Spock?  There’s also a substance I can’t identify.  A hydrocarbon.  That might be our culprit.”  
  
Spock pondered this for a moment.  “Carbon-13, Hydrogen-28, Oxygen-2, correct?”  
  
“Yup,” the doctor confirmed.  “You know it?”  
  
“It is a very common steroid.  DHEA,” Spock informed him.  “It is used on Vulcan to counteract contraceptives.  I believe Saron had intended to breed me.”  
  
McCoy scoffed, and Spock allowed himself off the bed.  “That’s all those guys talk about, breeding you.  Don’t they know you’re male?” he asked, but his tone suggested he wasn’t actively seeking a response.  “Male Vulcans can’t have children, right?”  
  
“No, Doctor,” Spock said coolly.  “They cannot.”  
  
And with that, he excused himself, walking back to engine room four.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Thankfully, Jim still had a few condoms left from when they had first begun their sexual relationship.  He had taken the news fairly well, and once they’d finished, condom stowed in the trash bin, he pulled Spock to his chest.  
  
“I thought you said they couldn’t tell you were on contraceptives,” the captain murmured.  “How would he have known to give you that particular shot?”  
  
Spock listened to Jim’s slow heartbeat for a few long seconds.  “I can only assume that Saron logically assumed that, as I have been fertile for some six months and am not yet pregnant, I was using contraceptives,” he said, tangling his fingers with Jim’s in a slow kiss.  “It is fortunate that you insisted I have a medical exam done or we may not have discovered the situation.”  
  
Jim chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath Spock’s ear.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “No babies, Spock.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Jim brought his hand up to his face again, just as he had before.  Spock drew it back.  “Jim.  I will not engage in another meld with you until I am confident in our ability to separate without trouble,” he warned, stroking Jim’s fingers.  “If we are not careful, it could result in a lifebond.  I am certain this is something you do not desire.”  
  
“Someday, maybe,” the human contradicted.  “How long before you’re sure again?”  
  
 _I will be certain when we have divorced and the marriage bond is dissolved._  
  
Spock thought it, but he couldn’t say it.  Didn’t want to think about it.  Didn’t want to think about going back to the times he spent watching Jim, craving his touch, and meditating those emotions away.  “It will take some time,” he answered, not wanting to think about the day he would no longer sleep with Jim’s hands on him.  
  
Jim was quiet.  “I’ll figure us out someday, Spock,” he offered.  But Spock didn’t respond.  He was already working himself to sleep, the gentle hum of pleasure in his body lulling him out of consciousness.  
  
He did not quite mind the reprieve from thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempted non-con in this chapter. Please skip this chapter altogether if that triggers you.

Saron was not charged with any crime, and he had fallen into Plak Tow by the time they arrived in Sector Four.  Stonn assured Spock that the younger Vulcan would be able to resolve the fever here, hopefully with the aid of Stonn’s mate.  His face had tensed significantly when he’d explained, but it couldn’t be helped.  If it would save Saron’s life, it would have to be done.  It was only logical.  
  
They had also been given leave, a fortnight in the sector to do as they wanted.  Spock had allowed Jim some leeway, spending time on his own at the aquarium while the human did whatever he wished.  Vulcan had had no oceans.  Creatures of the sea were exotic, an unknown existence that still fascinated Spock, even after having all these years to acclimate himself to them.  Fins, gills, a complex skeletal structure – some even had  _lungs_.  Spock could spend weeks in an aquarium if given the opportunity.  
  
“Oh, Commander,” Sulu’s unmistakable voice greeted from his left.  Spock nodded his greeting.  “So this is where you were.  Is the captain with you?”  
  
Spock watched a shark swim above him, gills flaring out.  “I’m afraid not.  He asked for some time on his own this leave,” he answered, finally turning to face the man. To his discontent, a Miss Gillian Hart was at his side, clutching his arm.  “You are endeavoring to engage Ensign Hart in emotional discourse?”  
  
Sulu shook his head.  “Bumped into her here,” he replied.  “Figured I’d escort her around.  We call it chivalry.”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock acknowledged.  His communicator buzzed.  “Spock here.”  
  
“Hey, Spock,” Jim’s voice came through.  He sounded surprisingly excited.  “Reservations.  Seven.  The finest vegan fare in Sector Four.  Interested?”  
  
“I have told you before, Jim, that you need not force yourself to consume vegetarian fare on my behalf if you would rather indulge in something more suitable to your palate while on leave,” he reminded him, a rather bright fish catching his eye.  “Where do you wish to rendezvous?”  
  
“Main gate two,” Jim informed him.  “See you there at 6:50.”  
  
“Acknowledged,” Spock closed his communicator, returning his attention to Sulu and his companion.  “Lieutenant Sulu, I do not fully comprehend the value in ‘chivalry’. Is it not somewhat antifeminist?”  
  
“Not everything has to be feminist,” Hart informed him coolly.  “So, you have a date with the captain?”  
  
Sulu chuckled.  “Miss Hart, they’re married.  Of course they go on dates,” he said, looking around.  A school of fish rushed past, flashing a white light towards them. Spock let himself admire the display.  “I think it’s pretty nice of the captain to think of your diet when picking out restaurants.  It’s thoughtful.”  
  
Hart scoffed.  “You don’t realize how lucky you are, do you?” she asked Spock straight out.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  “You have  _the_  Captain Kirk all to yourself.  Do you have any idea how many women would kill for that?”  
  
“I should hope they would not be willing to commit homicide for the purposes of procuring a romantic partner,” Spock said, folding his hands behind his back.  “That would be most illogical.”  
  
Sulu laughed.  “Colloquialism, Commander,” he clarified, “meaning a lot of women envy your relationship.  They want the captain for themselves.”  
  
Spock had known what it had meant.  He simply hadn’t wished to say anything, not yet.  Not before Jim knew what he felt.  “That explanation was sufficient, Lieutenant,” he stated, nodding briefly.  “He is a fine specimen.  It is fortunate that he was assigned the Enterprise.”  
  
Sulu nodded.  “Yup,” he said needlessly.  “Anyway, Commander, we’re going to go ahead.  Have fun on your date.”

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

The restaurant was indeed impressive, if Spock allowed himself to be honest.  Its options were extensive, and there even seemed to be something for Jim.  And somehow (Spock allowed himself to speculate that it may have been due to his notoriety as the youngest captain in Starfleet), Jim had managed to procure a private table in a private room, lit appropriately.  
  
It was, to use Sulu’s word, a ‘date’ in every sense.  
  
“This is actually pretty good,” Jim informed him, chewing on something Spock believed to be a root, though he did not intend to inform his husband of this.  “How’s yours?  Palatable?”  
  
“Quite,” Spock confirmed.  “Perhaps the reputation of this establishment is well-deserved.”  
  
“Duh,” Jim said around some sort of potato.  “As if I’d take you here without seeing how other Vulcans liked it.  Stonn said it was the best.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Verbatim?”  
  
Jim shrugged.  “I think he said something along the lines of it fulfilling both the basic nutritional requirements of his species while maintaining a flavor suitable to…something or other,” the man admitted.  “But I trust the guy.  He did kind of help out amazingly with keeping Saron locked up the past few days.  What’s wrong with him, anyway?”  
  
The Vulcan simply didn’t answer, languidly chewing his dish.  Exquisite.  Jim accepted the omission, and Spock knew his eyes were on him, just watching him eat.  He did so comfortably, and the Vulcan found it inexplicably relaxing.  He met Jim’s eyes and they just held each other’s gaze.  
  
“Say it?” Jim asked.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  “I can’t say it to your face until you say it to mine.”  
  
Spock thought for a long moment.  What was it Jim wanted him to say?  Clearly, this was an illogical trigger of some sort, something connected to his emotional state. Jim’s eyes were blue.  Very blue.  Spock wasn’t sure how long he’d known they were blue, but they were  _particularly_  blue tonight.  He credited the lighting.  
  
“You are an exceptional specimen of the human male, both mentally and physically,” Spock offered, “and, if I may add, sexually.”  
  
A chuckle escaped Jim’s lips readily.  “You are also a prime specimen.  Mentally, physically, and sexually.”  
  
Spock sipped his tea.  Herbal.  “While I would ordinarily point out that, as I am the only specimen of my genetic construction, I cannot be considered a ‘prime specimen,’ I imagine you did not mean for me to take it so literally,” he stated, savoring the aftertaste of the tea.  “I also assume that is not what you had hoped to prompt from me tonight.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim said, but his voice indicated amusement.  “But I’ll let you keep guessing.”  
  
Guessing was imprecise.  Spock was not particularly enamored with the art.  But he considered it.  He had complimented Jim three times in one statement, and none of those things had been what the man was seeking.  Hmm.  It was possible it had to do with recent events, perhaps with all the references to him being fertile and their wait for his contraceptives to be effective again – perhaps one more week – and the agreement they had reached about not reproducing.  It seemed likely.  
  
“Past precedent states that my fertility will only remain for another six point two days, after which we may resume our customary sexual practices,” he began, face impassive as he could make it.  “I will consent to ‘riding’ you, as you have put it, at that time.”  
  
“That’s great news,” Jim grinned, “and I can’t wait to try it out.  But that’s also not what I was aiming for.”  
  
Spock chewed the last of his dish.  “You are making this intentionally difficult,” he accused, setting his fork down.  “Am I to state that I forgive Saron for his assault?”  
  
“It’s logical,” Jim pointed out.  And it was, he had to admit.  “You said the kid wasn’t in control of himself.  That’s good enough for me.  Are you going to forgive him?”  
  
“There is no need,” he replied.  “I never assigned blame to him.”  
  
“Great,” the human said, calling for the bill.  The credit transfer was done nearly instantly.  He turned back to Spock.  “That wasn’t what I meant, either, though.  Come on, this is an easy one.”

Jim led him out of the establishment with their fingers intertwined.  Deep affection worked its way to the surface of his mind, and Spock stopped them just outside the restaurant, a daring feeling rushing through him, and he pulled his fingers back from Jim’s, standing in front of him.  He crossed their wrists and touched their palms together, closing his eyes at the sheer force of the attachment, the affection and sensation and love symbolized by the act.  
  
A moment later, when he opened his eyes, Jim’s forehead was pressed up against his.  “What is that?” he asked, pressing his palm closer to the Vulcan’s.  Spock was quiet for a long moment, letting the sensations flow through him.  
  
“El'ru'esta,” he murmured.  “An embrace for T’hy’la.  It is the greatest act of affection I am permitted to perform in public.”  
  
Jim was silent for a long while, eyes closed.  “More intimate than a kiss, then?” he inquired gently.  Spock nodded, not certain how best to explain this to his husband. But it didn’t seem to need any further explanation, the hand pressing harder into his.  “God, Spock.  You’re getting so close.”  
  
“Commander Spock,” a third voice interrupted, and Spock was forced to break eye contact with Jim, glancing to his right to find Stonn standing there, looking only the slightest bit flustered.  Spock nodded, not disentangling his hand from Jim’s.  “I had believed it was you.  There has been an incident, and I must request your assistance.”  
  
He felt a wave of suspicion through the bond from Jim, but he did not see reason to distrust Stonn.  He sent back what calmness he could through the tiny bond, eyebrow arching slightly more severely.  “What kind of incident?”  
  
Stonn’s eyes burned into Jim.  “You know I cannot speak of Saron’s plight, especially before one who is not of our race,” he replied.  “The most I can inform you is that my mate has sustained some damage to her mind.  Your abilities in telepathy are said to be unrivaled.  It is therefore logical to approach you in this instance to determine the amount of damage and how best to heal it.”  
  
Another distrustful feeling slipped through the bond.  “Jim, the Vulcan race does not lie,” he assured him, finally separating their hands.  Jim glanced up at him, almost pouting at the loss.  What could almost be an arrhythmia flitted through Spock’s abdomen.  “If Stonn says that his mate is in need of my expertise, then it is my belief that his mate is indeed in need of my expertise.  Saron’s behavior is not the example you must take to be the model of every young Vulcan male.  It is the exception.”  
  
“I just don’t like it,” Jim said firmly.  “I’m going with you.”  
  
Spock sent as much disapproval as he could through the bond.  “What has caused this is a condition we do not speak of, even amongst ourselves,” he stated flatly. “When it comes to affect me, I will explain it to you.  But at the moment, it is both unnecessary and inappropriate for you to accompany me.  I will return to the ship no later than 2300 hours.”  
  
Jim surged forward and kissed him hard on the lips, the contact thrilling, passionate, and wholly inappropriate.  When he leaned back, wiping his lips, he frowned.  “If you aren’t in our quarters by then, I swear to whatever deity your people worship – and don’t tell me there isn’t one, or I’ll just swear it on Surak – that I am going to come out here and personally whip some ass.  You hear me?”  
  
“Clearly,” Spock responded.  How impulsive and possessive.  “I will return as expeditiously as possible.”

Jim turned around, anger seething in the bond, and left.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Indeed, there must have been significant damage to Stonn’s mate’s mind.  She was stretched out on her back, barely made decent before his arrival, eyes wide and unresponsive.  Green bruising on her face was indicative of an overly forceful mindmeld, and Spock was almost hesitant to meld with her.  But he did so, slipping easily into the unguarded mind.  
  
The damage done was so extensive that Spock hardly knew where to begin the reparations.  The fundamental structure of her mind and personality seemed to be all that had been kept safe, no doubt an instinctive act of self-preservation.  He began the work methodically, restructuring what he could.  It was all he could do to manipulate her into a healing trance before he slipped out of her mind.  
  
“She will recover?” Stonn asked immediately after the meld was broken.  “It is imperative that I have this information.”  
  
Spock glanced over the woman, a terrible feeling of apprehension building in himself.  He could not allow himself to do this to Jim.  This woman had been significantly stronger than his husband, physically and mentally – and this much damage had been sustained.  He could not allow this to ever happen to the man he loved.  
  
“She will recover, but it will take a minimum of nine days for her to awaken,” Spock informed him.  It was truly unfortunate to have her in this situation.  “Do not attempt to meld with her before she has awoken of her own volition.”  
  
Stonn stood firmly, mouth in a firm line.  “Saron’s Plak Tow has not been resolved,” he murmured.  “I will need to find him an outlet.”  
  
Spock glanced at the clock on the wall.  2212.  “I wish you success in your endeavor,” he gathered his overcoat from the ground.  “I must return to the ship.  Jim is expecting me.”  
  
“Of course,” Stonn nodded.  He opened the door for Spock, bowing his head.  As Spock passed, there was so sudden a movement that he could not react, everything going black with not so much as a moment to think about what was happening.  
  
When he awoke, some indeterminable amount of time later, he found Saron tearing at his pullover, seemingly incapable of logically solving the apparent mystery of how to remove it.  He attempted to bring his hands down to knock out the younger Vulcan, only to find them held firmly in another’s grip.  He did not have to look up to know who it was.  
  
“Stonn, cease this,” he commanded, sending a wave of urgency and panic through the bond.  An immediate rage seeped back through, followed by an echoing panic and worry.  Stonn did not relent in his hold.  “Stonn.  There are other ways of resolving the Plak Tow.”  
  
“They are not guaranteed, especially not for one’s first Pon Farr,” Stonn’s calm voice informed him, and Spock became aware of a firm pressure against his hip, very distinct in shape and very, very hard.  There was no escaping what it was, and it was all Spock could do to make sure that it did not find its way inside of him.  “I understand your reticence to reproduce at the moment, and it is unfortunate that Saron managed to inject you with DHEA, but I cannot stop this, Spock.  You will have to bear it.”  
  
He knew Jim was on his way, could feel the determination and panic, and he felt Saron finally tear his shirt open, hands splaying over his chest.  If Spock was to prevent the unthinkable, he would have to act immediately.  
  
No matter how degrading the action taken might have been.  
  
He bucked his hips up, not to dislodge Saron, but to engage him.  He spread his legs wide, and then clamped them around the younger Vulcan’s hips, using what leverage he had to buck into him.  A growl escaped the boy, and his hands reached down to tear at Spock’s pants – he had to allow it, had to, but he kept bucking, forming a rhythm – and even if he succeeded, the angle was too controlled.

Saron could not penetrate him like this.  The diplomat’s hips rutted hard against Spock’s, harsh thrusts and growls coming from him.  If he made Saron ejaculate, the recovery time necessary could give Jim the time he needed to arrive.  It was not something he would ever have wanted to do, but…  
  
He thrust back, forcing his own body not to react.  This man was not Jim.  This was not the man he loved, not his husband, his mate.  He reminded himself of that, reminded himself that Jim was on his way, even as Saron came, gasping harshly.  
  
Jim would not be long now, he knew.  But still, he was already too late.  This should not have happened.  Jim had been right to be suspicious, and Spock knew he should never have come here.  His mind returned to the woman on the bed, how viciously she’d been taken, physically and mentally, how near to impossible the devastation in her mind had been to fix.  That could have been him.  
  
“How can you permit this?” Spock asked Stonn, trying to keep his voice calm.  Saron was still panting against his chest, breath too hot.  Stonn clenched his wrists harder.  
  
“If it will save Saron’s life to permit him to breed you, I will do it,” he answered.  “Saron is the only other member of my bloodline alive.  It is logical to save one’s own flesh and blood.  I can permit this, Commander Spock, because Saron is my brother.  He will not be lost to a genetic flaw.”  
  
Saron picked up his head, hands reaching out for Spock’s face.  This he could not fight.  He could only seek to protect himself, putting up the strongest barriers he could manage.  
  
The heat of Pon Farr would break them, he knew.  He would be left in ruin, just as Stonn’s mate had been.  But he had to try.  As Stonn had said, his abilities were first class.  He felt the fingertips press themselves to the meld points, the pressure daunting, and—  
  
“Oh,” Saron gasped out, not even beginning to enter his mind, and before Spock could seek to know the cause, the door flew open.  His wrists released, Spock immediately reached forward to pinch his assailant’s neck, flipping around once he was unconscious.  
  
Jim was kicking the obviously stunned Stonn fiercely, utter rage seeping into Spock’s mind from him.  McCoy and Sulu were directly beside him, the doctor trying his very best to pull Jim away.  
  
“He’s not  _yours_ , you hear me?” Jim was hissing, McCoy’s arms all keeping him from further assaulting the unconscious Vulcan.  “I don’t care  _what_  your excuse is! That’s  _my_  fucking husband, and you’re not going to do  _anything_  to him because he’s not yours to do anything  _to_!”  
  
“Jim,” Spock interjected, and the man froze immediately, eyes widening at the sight of him.  And what a sight he must have been, shirt torn wide open, bruised wrists, hair wild – but none of that mattered right now.  “Jim.  He did not succeed.  I am unharmed.”

“Unharmed my  _ass_ ,” Jim snarled, breaking from McCoy’s grip and embracing him – the human way.  Spock was not certain what to do.  “You think I didn’t  _feel_  how panicked you were?  How disgusted, how uncertain, how fucking  _scared_  you were?  Don’t deny it, don’t you dare.  You know that anything you feel I feel.  Anything. You should have  _known_  what he was going to do!”  
  
Spock allowed the man to hold him, and he didn’t look at the other men present, merely rubbing a hand on Jim’s neck.  “I believe he would not have turned to me if his mate had recovered quickly enough.  He was merely trying to save his brother’s life,” he informed him.  “He did not succeed.  I am safe.  I am with you.”  
  
Jim squeezed him tighter.  “Damn right, you’re with me.”  
  
Finally, he released Spock, yanking him to his feet.  “Contact Sector Four authorities,” Jim barked at Sulu.  “I don’t care if this is some big Vulcan secret or whatever; attempted assault of any kind against a Starfleet officer is unacceptable.  Bones, you and I are taking Spock back to the ship.  And he is fucking  _getting_  another physical exam whether he wants it or not.  And I want a line direct to Sarek.  I need him to know exactly what his little ‘assistants’ tried to do to his son.  And—”  
  
Thankfully, it is McCoy who interrupts him this time.  “Look, Jim, I know you’re upset, but aside from some bruising, it looks like he’s fine,” he growled out.  “If he doesn’t want an examination, he doesn’t have to have one.  It doesn’t matter how much you love him; he has rights.”  
  
“But,” Jim protested.  “Bones, didn’t you see…?”  
  
“I assure you, Jim, I was unharmed,” Spock murmured, brushing Jim’s fingertips lightly.  “All I desire is to return to our quarters and rest.  If you would also permit it, I would like to meld with you.  It should provide adequate evidence for you of what occurred.”  
  
Jim looked speechless.  “You said no more melds,” he whispered incredulously, the spike of adrenaline in the air dissipating almost immediately.  “You’re sure?”  
  
Once within beaming range, Spock pulled his communicator from his belt.  “Completely sure,” he confirmed.  “Enterprise, three to beam up.”

They had barely made it back to the transport pad when Jim was gripping his hand, pulling it towards his face.  Spock tugged it back towards himself, more a display of unwillingness than of actual resistance.  He wanted to do this in the privacy of their quarters.  This would risk a bond, certainly, but it was necessary – and if it did result in a bond, the immediate instinct would be to consummate it.  
  
He truly was not comfortable with exhibitionism.  
  
But he permitted Jim to arrange his hand, fingers lining up with the meld points flawlessly.  “Do it now, Spock,” he almost growled, seemingly unaware of his audience, of McCoy and Scott and Chekov.  Spock hesitated briefly, but acquiesced.  
  
It was a shallow meld, not delving into Jim’s mind as the previous had.  Spock felt a piece of him filled with fear of creating the bond inadvertently, but another part, one which was not particularly small, feared worse.  He remembered the damage Saron had done to Stonn’s mate, the state of her mind when he’d gotten to her.  
  
He could not allow this to happen to Jim.  
  
There was significant anger in Jim’s mind, worry, relief, irritation, and abating discomfort.  Thoughts of continuing what he had started with Stonn’s prone body, of having him tried for attempted rape and trafficking, and the guilt for letting Spock go to him in the first place flitted about distractingly in his mind, burdensome and dark.  
  
Spock pushed the reality of what had happened, what he had done to preserve himself, into Jim’s mind, and the confusion and guilt ebbed away, filling with what could almost have been pity.  It might have been tenderness, Spock thought, a warm embrace of their minds.  
  
 _Never again,_  Jim’s mind whispered to his, the sound blaringly loud.   _That is never happening.  Ever again._  
  
 _Indeed._  
  
Great warmth was the last thing Spock felt before ending the meld, and the moment they were returned to reality, Spock found Jim pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, palms touching in an embrace.  Spock rested his forehead against Jim’s, lips finally parted, looking him in the eye.  
  
“You are content.”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
Spock drew back with Jim’s confirmation, disentangling their hands and almost too aware that Chekov was staring.  He turned to Scott, who had an odd tinge of pink to his cheeks.  “Is video conference room two in use right now?” he asked bluntly, clasping his hands behind his back.  The engineer shook his head. “Jim and I will need to use it immediately.  Please set lock codes to Alpha-2.”  
  
Scott confirmed the order, and Jim walked alongside him down the short hallway to the room.  A bit of Jim’s anger was back, an irrational response to the reminder of what had almost happened to Spock – but Spock could not bring himself to complain.  He did not even attempt to calm the anger this time, knowing from experience that some things should not be suppressed.  Jim’s anger would need an outlet, and it was entirely possible that the conversation he would have with Spock’s father could be the outlet in question.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miscarriage in this chapter. In case I didn't have enough triggers in this story yet.

Hours later, Jim finally returned from the call.  Spock had intended to join him, but on his husband’s insistence had instead returned to their quarters to bathe and change into his bedclothes, the ruined uniform top disposed of immediately.  Upon his return, Jim seemed almost subdued, silently pulling his clothes off and slipping into bed beside his first officer.  For a time, neither spoke.  
  
“He said he didn’t plan it, and I believe him,” Jim whispered.  Spock nodded, threading their fingers together.  “Did you ever figure out what I wanted you to say first?”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
The words escaped Spock with no preamble, surprising even himself.  He had not intended to say these words to his husband, not when the man was so terrified of falling in love.  There was no expectation of reciprocation, and to state his emotions like this would only cause more complications than were necessary in their arrangement.  But he could not help it.  The three words slipped out of his mouth, logic failing him.  
  
But Jim did not panic.  Through the bond, Spock found no fear, worry, or alarm – just a slight apprehension.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted you to say,” the human whispered, turning onto his side to face Spock, fingers entangling gently.  He just looked at him for a long while, building resolve evident in his eyes, and then sighed.  “I think I really sort of love you, too.”  
  
Although Spock’s breath hung deep in his lungs with what Jim had said, he managed one sentence before the power of speech failed him entirely: “Could you put that more concisely?”  
  
Jim nodded, lips seeking out Spock’s.  “I’m pretty sure I love you,” he murmured against Spock’s skin.  A rush flew through his body at the words, and he stroked Jim’s fingers firmly.  “Yeah.  Pretty damn sure.  I love you.”  
  
And then there was no need for words, Spock deepening the kiss and rolling on top of him, working himself out of his pants.  He considered bonding them, doing it right there and then.  The elation humming in his mind nearly drugged him, slowing his fingers as he caressed his husband’s cool skin, working to elicit more sounds in that brilliant voice.  The bond, he needed to make the bond.  Needed to join himself to Jim permanently, to ensure they would never part again—  
  
And, as though he had been abandoned on Delta Vega, Spock found himself cold.  
  
Saron would have attempted to forge a bond with Stonn’s mate.  The evidence of what had occurred in the face of that attempted bond still echoed in Spock’s mind, the agony and emptiness and absolute barrenness of the woman’s consciousness.  She had been reduced to the most basic pieces of herself, barely keeping her personality intact.  
  
It could not happen to Jim.  
  
He pulled back, all arousal suddenly purged from his body.  Jim looked up at him questioningly, and he was barely able to choke out the words to his husband.  “I cannot act on this tonight,” he managed.  “I am compromised.  
  
Jim’s hands pulled him down, hugging him to his chest.  Spock could not react, merely letting his mind be blank, a reprieve from the horror of what he might have done, had he continued.  Concern and a slight sadness slipped through the bond from Jim, but the man did not act on it.  He merely held Spock to him, stroking his shoulders lightly and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  
  
“It’s okay,” he whispered, the words floating in the room.  Spock felt them wrap ineffectually around him, and as much as he wanted to believe them, he couldn’t.  But he let them cocoon him nonetheless, the steady beat of Jim’s pulse under his ear more of a comfort.  “Spock.  You’re going to be okay.”  
  
And with the irony of the situation rooted firmly in his mind, of Jim’s confession and his own inability to act on it as he should have, Spock let himself fall into a restless slumber.  
  
 _You will be okay, Jim,_  he thought.  And then the world was gone to him.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Jim did not attempt to convince Spock to bond them, and Spock found great relief in this.  Yes, he wished to create the bond, to cement their relationship – and yet he was terrified.  It was irrational, illogical, emotional, but it was so overpowering that he could not do it.  He knew Stonn’s mate had been compromised in a fit of mental instability, and he knew that he was capable of refraining from damaging Jim.  But if there was even the slightest chance, he was not going to risk it.  
  
For the first time in his life, he worried.  And there was no way to quell it.  It was constant, flaring up with every brush of his hand against Jim’s face.  He could hardly sleep for fear that he might attempt to meld with Jim while they were both unconscious, might awaken to find his husband catatonic, beyond his ability to heal.  
  
It exhausted him.  
  
Two months passed rapidly, and the anniversary of their wedding approached.  More importantly, the day Jim would be awarded unconditional Vulcan citizenship was also approaching – the day he could divorce his first officer.  The anticipation had Spock even more restless.  
  
He wished for the serenity his father had assured him Vulcans could experience.  Serenity through logic, he recalled.  Such a prospect was alluring beyond measure.  
  
He knew he could bond them safely, and that would keep them together for the rest of their lives – he wanted to.  Jim wanted him to, even if he would not say it.  But for the moment, at least, he could not bring himself to do it.  
  
Jim sat in the captain’s chair, sprawled boredly as he glanced out at the endless space before them.  Spock knew he should have been working, but no one really was. It was late enough to be early, and their shifts would end within the hour.  The lack of motivation on the bridge was so extensive that the youngest crewmember present (Ensign Flint, if Spock remembered correctly) had actually fallen asleep on his consol.  Jim’s lips were red from him biting them, no doubt trying to keep from yawning himself, and Spock found himself inexplicably aroused.  
  
He turned back to his station, sorting his slides meticulously as possible.  Even as he did so, expression as blank as he could make it, the memory of Jim flat on the bed the night before played out in his mind.  He remembered the way his hands had gripped his waist, leaving bruises like those all that time ago when they were faking their intimacy.  The deep flush traveling down his chest as Spock moved, fucking himself on his husband’s cock, had been so erotic.  The Vulcan knew that his husband was sporting a few bruises himself, one on each knee where Spock had gripped him for better leverage.  The thought of causing a few more of those uniquely colored marks was becoming more and more attractive with each passing moment, and he allowed his undeniable lust to leak into the small bond they shared.  
  
“Spock,” Jim called over, and Spock immediately rose, taking a single step towards the man.  
  
In that same second, there was a terrible noise, and Spock found himself launched backwards, the small of his back colliding violently with his consol.  There was a sensation he couldn’t quite understand pulsing near his heart, below it and of rather significant.  He did not know how to explain it.  
  
Jim swore loudly, Ensign Flint snapping upright in his seat.  “Ensign!  What was that?”  
  
The young man flipped through the controls rapidly, blinking sleep from his eyes as he did so.  “Meteor, Sir,” he said, sounding ashamed.  “If I’d been awake, I would’ve gotten the warning, but…”  
  
“You are relieved,” Jim growled.  He turned his head to Spock, blinking.  “Spock?”  
  
It hurt.  Badly.  Spock could not pinpoint the organ in question, but he knew he was bleeding internally.  “I need to go to medical bay,” he managed, voice strained.  He knew the eyes of the entire team were upon him, and his mind was fuzzy.  Detached.  “Please—help me up.  I need—”  
  
“Ensign Flint, take Spock to medical,” Jim barked out, immediately at his side.  And then, softer, “Spock, what’s wrong?  Talk to me.”  
  
Spock was unconscious before he could reply.

He awoke on a biobed, McCoy palpating his abdomen.  The pressure was unbearable, and he had to reach a hand up to stop what he was doing despite the necessity of it.  Ensign Flint was standing off to the side awkwardly, and next to the bed Jim sat holding his hand, stroking his fingers with obvious concern.  
  
“Do I have his full medical history?” McCoy asked, sounding desperate.  Spock attempted to remember if he did or not, and when neither he nor Jim responded, the doctor pressed his hand right onto the center of the pain again, prompting Spock to let out the slightest hiss.  “Jim, did Spock have the Male Carrier Technique performed on him?”  
  
Spock watched Jim nod, squeezing his hand tighter.  McCoy swore.  
  
“Has the implant been compromised?” Spock queried, finding his voice unnaturally weak.  It must have, judging by the weakness in his body.  He was bleeding out. When the doctor didn’t answer immediately, he continued, aware of the throbbing in his stomach.  “Shall I assume that it has…ruptured?”  
  
McCoy didn’t speak, waving a tricorder over him once more, and then he looked almost pityingly at Jim.  If he’d had the energy, Spock would’ve cocked his head.  
  
“No, it’s not the implant,” McCoy informed them, setting the tricorder down and sitting next to Jim, eyes looking directly into Spock’s husband’s.  Jim waved him on with his free hand, face open and desperate, and the doctor looked to the ground briefly before his eyes were back on his.  “The implant is intact and functional – and it was occupied.  He’s not bleeding out, Jim.  He’s miscarried.”  
  
There was a long moment of utter silence, although Spock did not care to imagine how long that time was.  His mind was blank, the shock of the statement rushing through his body.  How?  It was not even possible for him to have become pregnant, not with the contraceptives he’d been using.  Even when he’d been injected with the DHEA, they had done what was necessary to prevent conception.  Chances of contraceptive failure were miniscule, and yet—  
  
He had lost a child.  Jim’s child.  And worse, he had not known he carried it.  
  
“That’s impossible,” Jim managed, voice cracking.  Spock wanted to agree.  “That just can’t be—are you sure?”  
  
McCoy held up the tricorder, but Spock didn’t really care.  His free hand traveled to his stomach, pressing gently where he knew the implant was.  He ignored the pain, trying to discern whether there was anything different there, whether there was any way he could have known.  The flesh under his hand was firmer than he remembered it being.  
  
He had been  _pregnant_.  
  
“Two months ago would have put the conception date when he was injected with the DHEA,” McCoy was saying.  “I would have suspected Stonn or Saron, but indications are that the embryo was mostly human.”  
  
“Give us a moment, Bones,” Jim murmured, “and get Flint out of here.  He shouldn’t have been allowed to stay in the first place.”  
  
The room was empty save for the two of them only seconds later.  Spock squeezed Jim’s hand.

“I left a small sample of your ejaculate in me the night before I was injected with the DHEA,” Spock whispered, the memory coming back to him instantly. Why hadn’t he thought of it back then?  Why hadn’t he recognized the possibility that he could become pregnant?  “I had hoped that allowing your seed to remain inside me would…dissuade Saron.  Not only was I incorrect in my hypothesis, but it seems that it led to…this.”  
  
Jim’s arms were around his shoulders in an instant.  Spock felt all thought leave him, all except for one:  _the child_.  They had not wanted it, had not tried for it, would not have been able to provide it a stable environment in which to grow to maturity – but it should not have been lost.  And Spock should have been able to realize he was pregnant in the first place.  
  
“Are you okay?” Jim asked, no doubt feeling his turmoil across the bond.  Spock thought about it.  
  
This should have been a relief, given the nature of their relationship, the reason for their marriage, and the impending divorce that Spock would give near anything to prevent.  The pregnancy would have caused countless complications, personally and professionally.  Upon their inevitable divorce, they would have had to undergo Ku'nit Ka'fa'ar.  Custody arrangements and visitation would have been debated, and the shame of being a single parent of so young a child – so young a mostly human child, no less – would have brought scorn to him.  
  
And yet he found himself  _feeling_  the loss of their tiny, unborn child.  That piece of Jim he could have had beyond Jim’s lifespan was gone.  He would never teach it of the Vulcan culture, of the lost planet and all its splendors.  He would not see it grow, the features of its parents blending to create a unique individual.  He would never hear the child’s voice or advise it or even watch it watch him back.  
  
There was no blame to be placed, and yet…  
  
“I am not,” Spock answered finally, the throb in his stomach more painful than ever, seeming to wrap around his heart and constrict it until his shoulders were shaking.  Why?  Jim held him tighter.  “I am not okay.”  
  
Grief and confusion poured back through the bond, powerful and human.  Jim’s emotions.  Jim’s mouth was beside his ear now, breath coming raggedly.  
  
“Me neither,” he whispered.  Something wet smeared on his cheekbone, and Spock didn’t have to think to know it was a tear.  Maybe more than one.  But it was not without justification, and Spock knew that if he was capable, he would also be leaking those tears down his own cheeks.  
  
Just because they hadn’t meant to conceive their child didn’t mean it should’ve been lost.  
  
He’d thought it wouldn’t hurt much, not like this.  When he’d heard of women miscarrying, he had had some empathy for the lost opportunity, but it had never occurred to him that the emotional strain was so powerful.  And those women had known about their pregnancy beforehand.  
  
“There will be complications if Dr.  McCoy does not remove the embryo,” Spock managed, briefly returning Jim’s embrace.  Jim released him and kissed his lips, the coolness of them more obvious than it had ever been before, and then Jim was walking towards the door, intent on bringing the doctor back to perform the procedure no one had anticipated the half-Vulcan ever needing.


	11. Chapter 11

The entire crew knew about Spock’s miscarriage before he was cleared for duty again, and he knew from the looks they were giving him that they were uncertain how to respond.  Thankfully, their inability to come to a decision regarding the matter led to a lack of any approach, leaving him to grieve on his own with Jim.  
  
However, this also meant that he would need to inform his father of what had occurred.  He reserved video conference room four for that evening.  
  
He and Jim had an hour or so before the call, and Spock wasn’t sure what to do about it.  They had not discussed the miscarriage since that long moment in sick bay, wrapped in each other’s grief and awaiting the moment the dead embryo would be removed.  They sat in their quarters now, silent, Jim’s fingers locked with Spock’s. The contact seemed to enhance the bond, and a strange sense of need, of urgency, flitted through from Jim.  After a long while, simply sitting beside each other, the man shifted, throwing his legs on either side of Spock’s hips and scooting forward until he was nearly in his lap.  He pulled his hand to his face.  
  
“I know you’re scared of it,” Jim whispered, inexpertly positioning the Vulcan’s fingers on his meld points.  Spock tensed.  “You don’t want to hurt me.  I know.  Took me awhile to figure it out, but I know.  And I know you’re not going to hurt me.  So please.  Do it.”  
  
Spock resisted the temptation to delve into Jim’s mind, to bury himself in the warmth the other man could provide.  “Jim, I will not risk—”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t ready to face anything,” his husband interrupted.  “It’s just…Spock, I remember what you said the day we got married.  The thing about the bond.  Something deeper than the marriage bond.  I want that.  I want something meaningful – something special.  I know it’s unbreakable, and I want that.  Something permanent, Spock.  Something…infinite.  Because as much of an idiot as I am, I love you.”  
  
Spock managed to take a calming breath after Jim’s words, eyes closing.  He couldn’t look at a face so filled with adoration and determination.  “You are terrified of what could go wrong.  You did not want to fall in love.”  
  
“Spock, look at what’s already happened to us,” Jim’s voice was insistent.  Spock could picture the expression on his face, an emotional display he would be helpless to resist, filled with human love, grief, and urgency all mixed in a way that made Jim’s features all the more beautiful.  “Think about it.  We’ve faced subtle inquiries, the Vulcan council, and even your other self.  You were forced into having an operation you didn’t want, nearly got raped, and we lost a baby.  You tell me what part of that was because I fell in love with you.”  
  
Spock finally opened his eyes.  “Are you absolutely certain?” he whispered, Jim’s skin feeling unusually warm under his fingers.  “It is possible that you are confused, particularly in light of—”  
  
“I’d have asked even if we hadn’t lost the baby,” Jim said firmly.  “Please, Spock.  Bond us.”  
  
And Spock let go, surging into Jim’s mind and wrapping himself around it.  It no longer mattered that their marriage had been a performance.  And in Jim’s mind, he knew that everything outside the pair of them was irrelevant.  Their shared grief was scattered in the rapidly forming bond, blurring with age old wounds and uncertainties and the overwhelming, unconditional love he felt in Jim – and, he realized with some shock, in himself.

He felt Jim’s mind pulling him in further, all but embracing him.  They fit so perfectly, and Spock instinctively knew they would be all right.  Time would heal the loss they had suffered, time and their connection.  The bond wound thicker and thicker, overpowering.  
  
 _Spock_.  
  
Jim’s voice was so gentle, and yet he heard it so clearly in his mind.  He savored it.  
  
 _Why didn’t we do this sooner?_  
  
Spock’s mind rang with a thousand reasons – the expectation of divorce, his own irrational fear – and yet he found nothing that stood up to this utter belonging.   _I do not know, Jim._  
  
They were bonded.  The meld broke of its own accord, but Spock still felt Jim fully, felt his contentment and wonder and just the slightest bit of sadness.  
  
 _Would I have been able to feel the baby through the bond?  Since it was a part of you?_  
  
 _Not for some time,_  Spock found himself responding in the confines of their bond.  He had never been so aware of the outside world while communicating this way.  He could see Jim’s face, rather than just imagine it.  Could hear his breaths.   _Do not think of such things.  Not now.  It is too late._  
  
Jim nodded.  And then replied, vocally, “It’s too soon, you mean.”  
  
Indeed, the wound was still fresh, still tender and open.  He brushed his fingers with Jim’s, the intimacy and sensation increased a thousandfold with the new bond in place.  Even Jim shuddered with the pure intensity of the gesture.  “You do not wish to divorce me, then,” Spock murmured, Jim’s amusement coursing through his body.  “That much is obvious.”  
  
“Never really wanted to,” Jim confirmed.  His eyes were locked to Spock’s.  “But let’s not get you pregnant again anytime soon.  Not until we have a stable situation.”  
  
“Agreed,” Spock replied, and he brushed his fingers against his husband’s.  His  _mate’s_.  “The time?”  
  
“We have ten minutes before we call your dad,” Jim informed him, a wave of melancholy flowing through their strengthened bond and ebbing away.  How powerfully Jim felt about their loss.  “Though we could go early.”  
  
Spock was already getting to his feet when Jim said this, and with the bond in place, he did not need to make his intentions known.  His mate rose as well, passing him to step out the door.  They arrived at the room three minutes before their reservation, and upon finding it empty simply stepped inside and dialed in the correct system, planet, and residence for Sarek.

The man answered within forty seconds, his immaculate countenance appearing on the viewscreen.  To Jim’s surprise, Keilok appeared at his side, a cup of tea in his hands.  They both looked at the pair questioningly.  
  
“This is rare,” Sarek said in greeting.  “I assume you are calling in response to the sentencing of Stonn and Saron?”  
  
Jim shook his head.  Spock recalled their conversation a week ago, when it was revealed that the pair had been pardoned.  His refusal to explain why the council had deigned them unable to be held responsible for what had happened had been aggravating to his mate, he knew.  But Jim had accepted that he would explain when it became relevant to them.  
  
“We have some distressing news for you, Father,” Spock said evenly, Jim’s fingers entangling with his.  Keilok, in the back, moved forward to stand beside their father. “We do not enquire as to the reasoning behind their pardon.”  
  
“Why do you call?” his father queried.  “It is quite late.  Be concise.”  
  
Jim’s hand wrapped around Spock’s in a gentle embrace, and the Vulcan allowed the man to calm him.  One steady breath in, and then he spoke.  “We conceived a child,” he informed his father, the loss dripping into him from Jim and mixing with his own as his father and other self’s faces betrayed their approval ever so slightly.  The next words were consequently more difficult to say.  “But there was an accident, and it was lost.”  
  
His father was silent, and Keilok sent them a pitying look.  Jim straightened his back.  
  
“We may have a child someday,” his mate said, gripping the desk in front of him.  “But we have agreed that it will not be right away.  We will wait until we know this will not happen again.”  
  
There was a pause, and then his father nodded.  “That is a logical decision,” he conceded.  “I know you did not conceive thinking this would occur.  Take better care next time you try to start your family.  Have you finished grieving?”  
  
Jim shook his head.  “We’re just starting,” he admitted.  “And I think we’re doing an okay job.”  
  
Keilok was the one to bow his head this time.  “I am sorry that such a thing has happened to you,” he murmured, voice low.  “Allow all the time you need.”  
  
“Of course,” Spock replied.  “We thought it prudent to inform you of what had happened.  I do not believe there is need for further discussion.”  
  
“Actually, I wanted to ask something,” Jim interjected, glancing at Spock.  “Sorry, Spock, but it’s a bit private.  Would you mind waiting for me in our rooms?”  
  
Spock respectfully refrained from probing Jim’s open mind for the reason, instead nodding his head and returning his gaze to the screen.  “I will take my leave, then, Father.  Ambassador,” he stated, holding up his hand in the Vulcan salute.  “Live long and prosper.”  
  
And with that, he turned his back to allow his husband to do whatever he felt was so necessary.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Two days later, the pair managed to procure a table in the mess without attracting any pitying looks, and Spock accepted that as a victory.  Even Nyota, entering alongside Dr.  McCoy and walking straight towards them, managed not to look excessively morose.  She set her tray down and looked Spock in the eye.  
  
“I’m dating Leonard,” she said simply.  Spock nodded, reassuring Jim mentally that this did not bother him – because it didn’t.  Without another word on the subject, she dropped into her seat, peeling the skin off a fruit similar to a Terran apple.  The doctor sat beside her.  “It’s hard to believe you guys have been married almost a year now.  Next time you get hitched, at least let me come to the wedding.”  
  
A surge of amusement came from Jim.  “You got it, Uhura,” he nodded, glancing at Spock.  
  
 _Did you want her at our last one?_  
  
Spock sipped his broth.   _Your selections from the crew were well thought out, Jim.  It was logical considering the circumstances._  
  
 _You ever seen an Earth wedding?_  
  
“I have not,” Spock replied, and when Nyota raised an eyebrow at him, he realized he’d said it aloud.  “Apologies.  I was conversing with the captain regarding our ceremony on Vulcan.  Have you ever witnessed a Vulcan wedding, Nyota?”  
  
She shook her head, eyebrow still raised.  “You’re not even touching,” she observed.  “How were you conversing?”  
  
“Psychic love bond or something,” Jim shrugged, but Spock felt the playfulness through said bond.  “How’d you think we just  _knew_  things about each other?  It’s this weird Vulcan thing that hey, I don’t really understand that well, but damn if I’d want to live without it anymore.”  
  
There is great truth attached to this statement, and Spock replied inwardly with,  _I do not believe either of us would choose to do so._  
  
“Thanks, Spock,” Jim responded.  “Anyway, we’re passing by Earth early next month, and an old friend of mine is having a wedding.  Since you’ve never seen an Earth ceremony, I figured you might be interested in attending.  Should I go ahead and RSVP for two?”  
  
Hope transferred in great abundance through the bond, a certain sense of urgency.  Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Whose ceremony would this be?”  
  
Jim took a bite of his pancakes, chewing languidly.  “You haven’t met him,” he said simply.  “But he’s important to me, Spock.  I want to show you off, too.  Say yes?”  
  
“I will consider it,” Spock answered, glancing to their crewmates, who were sporting nearly identical skeptical looks.  “How are the trials proceeding for the Rigellian flu vaccines?”

  
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
  
Spock could feel the daring in Jim’s mind, the hesitation and anticipation and excitement as the human pinned him to the bed a week later, and it was thrilling.  His husband’s arousal melded with his own, becoming something even more intimate than he had ever imagined.  They had not been together since before the miscarriage – something neither of them wished to think about right now, not when they were like this – and the newness of the bond made everything so much more pleasurable than either of them could remember anything ever being.  
  
Jim licked up his chest, seemingly undeterred by the amount of hair Spock possessed.  He seemed to relish in the taste, contentment rolling off him in waves.  His mouth went to one nipple as his fingers found the other, working him furiously, and Spock groaned, pulling one of Jim’s round ears with one hand, the other slipping fingers into the human’s mouth.  
  
Jim did most of the work in bed, but that suited Spock well enough.  He didn’t have to hold back his strength when he was the one being caressed.  He didn’t need to worry about the fragility of Jim’s human body, didn’t need to think about what might happen if he lost control.  It was so easy to get lost in the gentle and rough touches Jim gave him.  And Jim inside of him was so beautifully intimate that he could not imagine them any other way.

“You know what I want?” Jim whispered, and Spock shuddered.  He imagined Jim flat against the bed, hands on his hips as Spock rode him hard.  The man’s skin would be flushed pink, his nipples erect, and the look of utter ecstasy on his face would be…the Jim above him right then shook his head.  “You’re almost right.”  
  
He sat upright, reaching behind him to grip Spock’s length.  Spock groaned, eyes widening as Jim positioned himself as to take it in.  “You need preparation to—”  
  
Jim took him inside effortlessly, causing all breath to vacate Spock’s lungs instantly.  
  
 _Oh._  
  
 _I want equality,_  Jim informed him frankly.   _So take me, Spock.  Show me what you feel when I do this to you.  Take me until you go crazy with how badly it makes you want and feel and just adore the person you’re inside of.  You gonna give me what I want?_  
  
 _Yes._  
  
And without even the slightest hint of the control Spock knew he had, he found himself gripping Jim’s hips, pulling them into rhythm as he bucked his hips upward.  The pace was brisker than he usually set when he was on top, but Jim seemed to adore it.  He groaned out loud, bracing his hands on Spock’s chest and keeping the pace with his own strength.  
  
The grip of Jim’s body around him was almost unbearable.  Was this how Jim felt in their previous encounters?  He felt so possessed, and simultaneously that he was in possession of the man atop him.  When they came together at last, it was like a freefall, exhilaration and trust and overwhelming affection coursing through them as individuals and together through the bond.  
  
He had to help Jim back down to the bed once it was over, and for once he found himself reluctant to go to the bathroom to clean himself up.  He tossed an arm over Jim’s shoulders, nudging that round ear with his nose.  
  
“Stay awake another minute,” Jim pleaded softly, sounding closer to sleep than Spock.  Spock obeyed, and Jim laboriously pushed himself to his elbows, digging in the drawer next to the bed.  A long moment passed, and finally he flopped back to the bed.  “Got it.”  
  
“What?” Spock asked, eyes fixed on Jim’s cheeks, only just starting to lighten.  Jim lifted himself onto his elbows again.  
  
“You don’t wear jewelry.  I’m not going to ask you to,” his husband stated, opening his hand to reveal a ring.  Intriguing.  “But, uh.  It’s a human tradition to have a ring for this.  Technically, you proposed our marriage to start out with, and I’m glad you did.  But now it’s my turn to be the man in this relationship, so I’m doing it again.  The human way.  Properly, even.”  
  
How ironic that Jim seemed so intent on ‘being the man’ when he had just taken the submissive role in their coupling.  But Spock nodded him on.  
  
“Spock, this ring is my size.  If you say yes, I get to make you put it on me during a human wedding ceremony,” Jim informed him, turning the simple band in his fingers.  “So, do I get to do that?  Will you marry me all over again?”  
  
Spock leaned in to kiss Jim’s lips.  “Yes.  Put it away and go to bed,” he murmured, taking in Jim’s joy through the bond.  The smile he gave was almost too big for his face.  “Good night, Jim.”  
  
Jim pressed his fingers to his husband’s.  “I’ll tell you about the plans for the wedding tomorrow,” he promised.  And not two minutes later, Spock found himself drifting off to sleep.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

However Spock might’ve planned to inform the crew of their second wedding, he was not given the opportunity.  Jim strode onto the bridge the next morning, glanced about, and started giving orders as usual.  
  
“Chekov, double check our heading.  Make sure we’ll make it to Sirius within 90 hours,” he called over to the boy, who immediately nodded, ducking his head.  “Sulu, maintain current warp.  I am not about to get lectured by Scotty again, especially when it’s not my fault.  As usual, monitor all major frequencies, Uhura.  Spock, continue classifying mineral composition.” There was a long pause as Jim watched everyone get to work.  “Oh, and Spock and I are having a traditional Earth-style ceremony for our anniversary.  Figure out something nice to wear.  We oughta have some invitations sent out with RSVP directions by the end of the week, but I figured it’d be good to tell you now so you don’t have to wear your uniforms.”  
  
Spock resisted running his hands over his face.  But only barely.  Nyota’s eyebrow surged upwards.  
  
“You’re getting married again?” she asked, sounding dubious.  Jim merely nodded, but Spock felt the satisfaction rolling off him.  He pointedly aimed a few images of Nyota in a wedding dress with the ship doctor at Jim, and the resulting shock seemed enough to knock him off his game.  “Where’s the logic in that?”  
  
Jim cleared his throat, and Spock could feel him trying to rid himself of the image.  “I’d never seen a Vulcan wedding before I married Spock, and that was…special,” he said awkwardly.  Perhaps Spock had been too rough on him with that image.  “Spock’s never seen an Earth wedding.  Figured I’d equal the score – and what better way to celebrate our anniversary?”  
  
And then, of all things, Nyota smiled.  
  
“Good answer,” she said, turning back to face her station.  “If you’d said it was for your ego or because you wanted to show up Komack again, I’d have worn something skimpy and inappropriate and spilled something on your suit during or just before the ceremony.  But since you’re doing this for Spock, I’ll wear something tasteful and be careful with my drinks.  I promise.”  
  
Jim nodded, senses coming back to him.  “You’re still free to wear something skimpy and inappropriate if you want, though,” he said, sounding for all the world that he was serious.  Spock hoped he wasn’t.  “Bones would probably love it.”  
  
By lunch break, the entire crew knew of their intended second ceremony, and they seemed to be formulating several hypotheses as to why.  A majority of the women on board seemed to think Jim was a romantic at heart (and who was Spock to say he wasn’t?  He certainly had observed Jim’s sentimental tendencies on more than one occasion, and to call him a ‘romantic’ might not be so far off the mark).  Most of the men assumed Jim was just putting on a performance. He might well have been, too, although Spock suspected it was meant more for him than anyone else.  
  
Jim caught him before he could make it to the replicator.  “Neither of us is wearing white, got it?” he urged.  Spock raised an eyebrow, but he nodded.  “Okay. Good.  Just had to clear that up.  Sulu won’t stop asking.  Black for me.  You?”  
  
“Black,” Spock said carefully.  “I assume white has some significance in human weddings?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Jim snorted.  “It’s worn by the bride to symbolize purity.  As in,  _virginity_.”  
  
Spock entered the necessary code in the replicator for a stir fry.  “I can see how that would be somewhat unbefitting, given the entire crew knows we are sexually active,” he acknowledged.  “Rings are also a significant part of the human ceremony?”  
  
“Very,” Jim replied, punching in the code for his own meal.  “But I know how sensitive your fingers are, and a ring would just get in the way of your work.  I just figured it wouldn’t work out – right?”  
  
Spock eyed the ring adorning Jim’s left hand for a moment.  “I would not be averse to wearing one, provided it was worn on a chain around the neck,” he corrected him.  “If, of course, that is acceptable to you.”  
  
A long moment passed, wonder passing through the bond, and then Jim crushed Spock’s lips under his, and whispered a muffled, “thank you.”


	12. Chapter 12

“We arrive in San Fran on the fourteenth,” Jim estimated, going over their shared calendar. “You’re heading to the academy to make adjustments to the Satan Machine while I’m off to Iowa straightaway to throw Sam’s bachelor party. Noon on the fifteenth, you join me there and we party the night away.”  
  
Spock nodded, already dreading the ‘bachelor party’. Anything involving a party spanning the whole night was worth some trepidation. “The sixteenth, we will be assisting in the decoration of the hall, after which we need report to the tuxedo rental shop to obtain your outfit,” he added to their growing itinerary. “And the Kobayashi Maru is not ‘the Satan Machine’. It is the Kobayashi Maru simulation.”  
  
“Not to the academy students,” Jim mumbled, and then he was silent. Something akin to awe flowed through the bond, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Their eyes met, and his husband swallowed. “Spock. We’re  _domestic_  now. We’re… _plural_.”  
  
Spock set down his PADD. “Do you not enjoy being ‘plural,’ Jim?” he asked, keeping his nerves from entering their bond. Jim reacted quickly.  
  
“I like being ‘plural’ just fine,” he assured his husband, speaking quickly. There was a slight nervousness in the bond. “It’s—there’s this thing kids on earth say to tease each other. It’s centuries old, but it’s still hard on kids. ‘First comes love, then comes marriage’…”  
  
When Jim trailed off, Spock nodded him on. “And what proceeds beyond marriage?”  
  
The captain cleared his throat. “First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a baby carriage,” he stated clearly, though the anxiety he felt seeped through to Spock’s mind. And Spock had to admit, something bubbled up in him as well. Grief? Not quite. Perhaps anticipation of the unknown. He nodded Jim on, stroking his fingers gently. The human took a deep breath. “It’s not time for us to have a kid yet. We both know that. It’s just not the right time. But I want one with you. Someday. Not right away, you know? But someday.”  
  
Gratitude seized Spock’s chest, and he intertwined his hand with Jim’s. He returned his other hand to his PADD, flicking through the data for a few seconds, during which he felt Jim’s confusion. He confirmed what he was looking for, and then returned his attention to his husband, meeting those blue eyes.  
  
“Vulcan females are reputed to be most fertile on planets mirroring the atmosphere of Vulcan, and following the conception of a Vulcan child it is necessary to visit a healer to determine whether the child will be of sound genetic formation, particularly in cases involving other species as the sire,” Spock informed him, mouth drying somewhat. “We may attempt to conceive next time we pass near New Vulcan. Would this be acceptable to you?”  
  
Jim’s mind was blank through the bond, and for a long while they were silent. And then, finally, his husband whispered, “so soon?”  
  
Spock leaned forward to brush his lips against Jim’s. Sharing a breath with him, he looked into those hesitant eyes. “A conversation with my other self the day of our nuptials revealed a truth I did not wish to consider, but I must consider it,” he murmured. “I will almost inevitably outlive you, Jim. Your life expectancy is at most 104 years, considering your lifestyle and species. And you are so much more fragile than a Vulcan. I will someday face a life in which you do not exist. Should that come sooner than I would otherwise expect, I would desire…”  
  
“You don’t want to be alone when I’m gone,” Jim summarized for him, emotions still on hold. Spock was momentarily uneasy about this, and then Jim leaned forward to kiss  _him_  this time. “You might die out here, too. Bones has made it a hobby of his to tell me all the various ways one can die in space, and I don’t think you’re immune to any of them. Either one of us could die before the other.”  
  
Spock closed his eyes. “State it concisely,” he murmured. “Please.”

“I agree,” he murmured. “Might be sooner than you thought, though. I promised your dad I’d take you to New Vulcan for the anniversary of Vulcan’s destruction.”  
  
Spock did the calculations mentally. “That leaves only eight point two weeks,” he heard himself say. “I must admit, that is sooner than I anticipated.”  
  
“Still what you want?” Jim asked, and after a long moment, fingers flexing against his hand. Spock nodded. “Okay. We’ll discuss becoming even more plural than usual after we finish with the plans. Two weddings in one week. Mom’s gonna go nuts.”  
  
Spock returned his attention to the PADD. “We need to awaken at 0800 hours on the seventeenth in preparation for your brother’s wedding. We will attend from 1100 hours until 1800 hours, at which point we will return to your mother’s home.”  
  
“And we get married again two days later,” Jim reminded him. Spock felt his lips attempt to tug upwards, but he suppressed it, instead offering his contentment to Jim through the bond.  
  
“Indeed.”

  
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
  
When Spock arrived in Iowa, Jim was standing beside a small blonde woman, and he didn’t have to spend more than a moment looking at her to see the resemblance. Jim pointed him out, although the Vulcan suspected it was unnecessary – he did rather stand out. Nonetheless, she approached warmly, keeping her hands to herself.  
  
“You must be Jim’s husband,” she greeted, a nervous smile on her face. “I don’t know as much about you as I’d like, but I think we can fix that. I’m Winona Kirk. Please call me…whatever you’re comfortable calling me.”  
  
Spock nodded, hands folded behind his back. “It is my pleasure to meet you,” he stated, the words sounding foreign to him. “Thank you for permitting me to stay in your home.”  
  
“You’re family,” she replied quickly. “And you’re probably the best thing that’s happened to Jim in a long time. You are welcome here any time you would like.”  
  
Jim finally cut it. “Uh, it’s almost time for us to pick Sam up,” he pointed out. “Sorry to cut this short, but…”  
  
“Oh, I understand,” she smiled at her son. “You boys have fun. Just—not too much fun. That’s supposed to be Sam’s job. Don’t let him drink enough that he’s hung over on his wedding day, Jim. You understand me?”  
  
“Yes, Mom,” his husband supplied. “We’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”  
  
And with that, Jim started briskly towards a car just outside the transport dock, leaving Spock to follow and wonder just what sort of first impression he had gotten from his mother in-law – and what impression he had given.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

Spock would not have been able to tell anyone how he had come to be alone with his husband’s mother decorating a hall with ribbon, lace, and flowers, but it was not the most uncomfortable situation he had ever encountered. It was, however, quite high on the list, with the older woman almost  _ordering_  him to tie the ribbon this way or that way, and reprimanding him for chewing on a stray petal.  
  
“I don’t care if they  _are_  edible! You will  _not_  eat the decorations!” she exclaimed, brushing the fragrant flower bits away from him as though she expected him to consume them all in one fell sweep. “Call it impractical all you want. For now, they’re decorations. You can eat them  _later_.”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow, glancing over the table. “How is disassembling a flower and scattering it over a table at all decorative?” he asked, the slightly bitter taste of the petal lingering in his mouth. On Vulcan, such a thing would have been a delicacy. This was apparently not so on Earth. “Furthermore, why is it permissible for me to dine on them after the ceremony as opposed to before? We appear to have a surfeit of them.”  
  
She relented her guard, eyes wide as she looked him over. “You’re really curious?”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock confirmed, setting down the scissors he’d been holding before and clasping his hands behind his back. “Is this symbolic?”  
  
She seemed to consider it. “It’s aesthetic,” she corrected him. “You put a small bouquet in the center of each table and scatter petals under it. It gives it an…aged feel. And okay, it’s not a natural feel, but it’s close enough. It’s just designed to be aesthetically pleasing. Basically, it’s supposed to reflect the bride’s beauty.”  
  
Spock glanced over the centerpiece in question, attempting to comprehend. “And if the bride is not beautiful?”  
  
An odd snort escaped the older woman, and she had to grip the table for support. Spock raised an eyebrow. “If the bride isn’t beautiful, then the décor had better be _especially_  gorgeous,” she managed, and the Vulcan knew she was attempting to answer his question seriously, despite the laughter she was failing to suppress. “Earth weddings are pretty much a bride’s excuse to fish for compliments on everything – her hair, dress, make-up, choice in men, eye for décor, what have you. So if she’s going to get her quota on compliments, she’s gonna need to try way harder on the decorations if she’s not pretty to start with.”  
  
He pondered it for a moment. Such an unusual custom. “It is acceptable, then, to presume that an unattractive bride necessitates a beautiful reception hall, but a beautiful reception hall does not necessitate an unattractive bride?” he queried, watching the woman shake with suppressed laughter as she nodded. “Fascinating.”  
  
They worked in silence for a few long minutes, Spock with the efficiency imbibed in him since before he could remember and his husband’s mother with laborious care not unlike the effort he remembered his mother giving when preparing the house for one of her human celebrations. He forced the thought from his mind, reminding himself that she had passed nearly two years ago, and that he needn’t consider it so close to a celebratory occasion.  
  
“Jim was right,” Winona Kirk interrupted his thoughts, blissfully well-timed. Spock turned his attention to her, and she smiled warmly at him. “He said I’d love you. I really didn’t think I would, but you’re just such a clueless little charmer. I’m glad he picked you.”

Spock wanted to correct her on the ‘clueless’ comment, but upon closer examination, he realized how little he did know of all they had discussed. ‘Clueless’ was not completely inaccurate, loath as he was to admit it. Instead, he simply nodded. “I am also pleased with the arrangement,” he stated. “Although I feel I must inform you that  _I_  was the one to propose the marriage between us.”  
  
She sighed, but there were no indications that she was at all upset. “Can’t fault you for your taste,” she said. “My son is quite the man.”  
  
Spock rearranged a bow on one of the chairs, feeling inordinately feminine. He reminded himself he was doing this for Jim, and that calmed him slightly. “Is that an observation made frequently by mothers on Earth?”  
  
“Nope, not vocally,” she shook her head, spreading a placemat carefully. “But we all think it. When you have kids, you’ll understand.”  
  
And irrationally, illogically, the pain of his loss resurfaced. It was somehow more overpowering than he had ever experienced, the grief and emptiness and intensity all but surging to the forefront of his mind, and while he felt the worry it garnered in Jim, he could not control it. Logic and control failed him, and he sank into one of the chairs, doing all he could to simply continue breathing and keep his face blank. Winona froze in his gaze, though he did not truly see her. He was merely aware of her, the image of Jim’s crestfallen face overtaking his conscious thought.  
  
“Spock?” the human woman asked gently, kneeling before him. She kept her hands at her sides, obviously trying to respect the distance maintained in his culture, and he knew he appreciated the gesture, even though he could not see it. She was quiet as he attempted to compose himself, soothing waves coming through the bond from his mate, and then she took a barely audible breath. “Spock, what’s the matter?”  
  
“We were going to have a child,” he confessed to her, the features she shared with his husband appearing in bas relief with the rest of her countenance. The ridge of her nose, the shape of her ears, pieces of her eyes – those were all Jim. And somehow, her presence was soothing. Something residual from the bond, perhaps. He did not particularly care why she made him feel so open, not when he needed so badly to speak. Had his father not told him that what was necessary was never unwise?  
  
His husband’s mother looked him right in the eye. “Something happened, though,” she surmised. He found himself nodding.  
  
“I will not go into specifics as to how it happened, but the pregnancy ended prematurely,” he said, clutching the seat of the chair. “We have not finished grieving. I did not wish to burden you with this knowledge, but—”  
  
“It’s not a burden,” she hurriedly explained, standing and leaning over him, jerking back at the last moment. “I—I would hug you, but I think that would be uncomfortable for you, so I’m going to wait for Jim to get back so he can do it for me.”  
  
“Logical,” Spock managed, and for a moment he wondered if his unique genetics permitted him to cry – and then the feeling subsided. “It would be prudent to complete our task as assigned.”  
  
She crossed her arms. “All that’s left is some fine tuning of the arrangement of the centerpieces,” she said. “Tell you what. I’ll take care of all that, since I still don’t want you eating the flowers. You go spend some time with Jim. Get yourself in shape for the wedding. And then, in four days when you’re getting married, you toss me the bouquet, ‘cause God knows it’s about time for John to propose. And don’t tell me you’re not having a bouquet. You are. Do we have an understanding?”  
  
Spock hoped for some explanation later as to the significance of the bouquet, but for the moment he would have to accept the offer without question. “We have an understanding,” he confirmed. “Good luck with the décor.”  
  
The soft smile on his mother in-law’s face was enough to send him through the door with no sense of remaining obligation. And for that, he was grateful.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

The reception was less enjoyable than the ceremony itself, Spock had to admit. The ceremony had been quiet, and aside from the initial procession, everything was still. Words had been spoken and seats taken and, above all, he had Jim all to himself, fingers interlaced.  
  
Now, at the reception, the music was loud and taxing his eardrums, and there was some girl flirting quite aggressively with his husband. The temptation to relocate was strong, as was the instinct to lash out at the threat to his marriage – but the humor and disinterest Jim felt filtered through the bond, and he was calmed. The girl refused to relent, and Spock did notice a few amused glances coming their way. It seemed the crowd was deriving enjoyment from this display.  
  
“Oh,” she said suddenly, and for a moment Spock thought she might have realized the pointlessness of her endeavors. She disproved this immediately, fluttering her eyelashes subtly at his husband. “This song is  _so_  romantic. Don’t you think you should ask a certain  _someone_  to dance?”  
  
Jim smiled brilliantly, and Spock could almost  _see_  the triumph in the lady’s eyes. “I should, shouldn’t I?” he replied, and she held out her hand. He ignored her, turning back to Spock. “May I have this dance?”  
  
“You may,” Spock said, indulging him. The girl’s shocked face followed them all the way to the dance floor. There was no particular lead in their dance, and no follower. “Is this deemed appropriate?”  
  
There was a quiet moment. “Well, we’re fully dressed, married, monogamous, and aren’t swapping spit or other bodily fluids right now, so I would think so,” Jim murmured. They swayed to the music another moment. “I know you don’t like close contact like this. Thanks.”  
  
“Perceived encroachment upon one’s territory may result in an urge to stake one’s claim,” Spock responded, rubbing his fingers gently. “I would not have permitted you to dance with her.”  
  
“Big surprise there,” Jim chuckled. For a moment, they simply took in the music. And then, “can’t believe it’ll be our turn in just three days.”  
  
“Technically, we have already been married longer than your brother and his new wife,” Spock pointed out. He felt a slight irritation come from Jim, somehow entwined with amusement. “Still, it does seem rather hard to believe that our roles will be reversed in so short a span of time.”  
  
“Bet you’re going to  _love_  it,” Jim whispered, and Spock simply swayed to the music.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

 

As it so happened, Spock  _hated_  it.  
  
He couldn’t fault Jim for wanting to have this ceremony, this culturally significant and emotionally deep ceremony, but it was not to his taste. Not at all. It was impractical, pretentious, and consisted too much so of greeting people he did not know and fielding personal questions.  
  
But he pretended to enjoy it.  
  
“And is the Vulcan ceremony much different from the human one?” an elderly woman was asking, although Spock was uncertain who she might have been. He wasn’t even certain of her name at this point. “Is it exotic?”  
  
Spock breathed. He had to try to remember to breathe. “As I was born and raised a Vulcan, the ceremony used here seems far more exotic than that of my species,” he clarified. “It is far more intimate.”  
  
“What do you  _wear_?” the woman asked. Exasperation slipped through the bond before he could control it, and in a flash Jim was at his side again, threading his fingers through his.  
  
“Hey, Great-Aunt Ashley,” he greeted. “Are you interrogating him about our first wedding? Don’t you have more  _important_  things to be asking?”  
  
The woman blinked, and then her face contorted as though she was attempting to recall something quite important. “I simply cannot remember,” she mumbled, and without so much as a goodbye, she was walking the other direction, muttering to herself and picking up a glass of brandy that might not have actually been hers to start with. Jim grinned.  
  
“That always works with her,” he informed his husband, handing him what looked suspiciously like chocolate milk. He raised an eyebrow. “Hey, weddings are only fun from our side if we’re intoxicated. Go crazy, Mr. Spock.”  
  
“How does intoxication factor into my enjoyment of this event?” he asked, accepting the glass hesitantly. Jim jerked his head towards the dance floor, where Dr. McCoy and Nyota were swaying, bodies pressed together too closely, the man’s hands travelling lower and lower. “Ah. I understand. Logical.”  
  
Jim laughed, taking a long drink of what might have been whisky. Spock sipped the chocolate milk, watching Jim’s throat work the liquid down. The man cocked his head.  
  
“So, if women can’t have alcohol while they’re pregnant, can you not have chocolate?” he inquired. Spock glared, and Jim laughed. “Just joking around, Spock. I know you’ll do what you have to when the time comes. Just let me know what you don’t want me doing and I’ll not do it.”  
  
He drank his milk quietly, letting the slight buzz work its way into his mind. He had never before ‘self-medicated’, not intentionally, but he did not find himself minding it. This reception had him wishing, illogically, that he had refused the second marriage ceremony. He finished his glass and set it down, only mildly surprised when it was immediately picked up. He followed the hand up to the face, and—  
  
“Hello, Spock,” his father greeted him. “It has been some time.”  
  
Spock immediately pulled Jim closer to his mind. “Indeed,” he replied, now thankful for the light intoxication. He was not entirely prepared to face his father. “I was not aware you would be in attendance.”  
  
“Your mate invited us last time we communicated,” Sarek informed him. “Ambassador Keilok was adamant that we come. Now I understand why.”  
  
Jim leaned in. “Good to see you, Ambassador Sarek,” he said, brushing Spock’s fingertips lightly. “So, Keilok’s here too?”  
  
“Indeed,” his father confirmed, face neutral. “Although I have come to know him now as  _Spock_.”

Spock felt his eyes widen against his mind’s will. “How have you come to have this knowledge?”  
  
“He initiated a mind-meld with me,” the older Vulcan stated. And there really was no further need for elaboration, no deep-seated mystery or confusion. Spock nodded, Jim’s surprise coursing through him and his own apprehension interlacing with it. “Spock. Your life is yours to live as you choose. I should not have attempted to control it. I hold you under no obligation to adhere to my desires for the way you choose to live.”  
  
“What changed your mind?” Jim asked, still sipping his drink. Sarek’s expression did not change.  
  
“There are some things meant to remain constant between our respective times,” he said, voice betraying nothing. “And there are some reparations to be made to both. I will not allow the eventuality your elder self faced to occur in this timeline. And I intend to speak no further regarding any of this.”  
  
His elder self approached then, and Spock immediately rose to his feet. “Ambassador,” he greeted formally. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nyota and Dr. McCoy watching. “Your presence is a welcome surprise.”  
  
“I am pleased to hear such a thing,” his other self murmured. “The ceremony was quite pleasant. Our own was Vulcan – under circumstances I would not have chosen of my own volition. Although I must warn you, in three years’ time you will face those same  _circumstances_. Thankfully, though, you will have Jim to aid you in this time. I am certain you will find him quite…enthusiastic.”  
  
So he would suffer Pon Farr after all. “Will I?” was all Spock managed, and then Jim’s fingers were weaving in with his own. A spike of lust surged through him, enhanced by Jim’s eager response to what leaked through the bond. His elder self raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I believe no one would hold any grudges were you to embark on your honeymoon an hour early,” the ambassador said lightly, and with some embarrassment Spock realized how accurate the man’s interpretation of their mental exchange had been. “All prudent speeches have been made. Most attendees have spoken with you. Your remaining responsibilities lie only with one another.”  
  
Jim was immediately tugging Spock closer. “Sounds like a plan,” he grinned, glancing at Sarek. “Sorry to cut this short, but—”  
  
“It is excusable,” his father waved them off. “Go.”  
  
Remembering his conversation with Winona the day before, he scooped up what she had deemed to be ‘the acceptee’s bouquet’, to an inquiring look from his mate. They passed her table on the way, and Spock made a show of lightly tossing the flowers into her lap. Jim chuckled lightly, and with a jaunty wave to the guests, he had the ensign on duty beam them back to the Enterprise. They made their way to their chambers with no preamble, and before they could begin, Spock reached for his pills.  
  
“Don’t,” Jim ordered hastily, pushing the packet back into a drawer. Spock raised an eyebrow. “They’re your contraceptives, right? You said you’re fertile every two months without them. We’ve got less than two months to get you in the family way before we pass by New Vulcan. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna need to pull the goalie, Spock.”  
  
Spock manipulated their hands into the El'ru'esta embrace, touching his forehead to Jim’s. “You are certain this is what you desire?” he asked, heart racing in his stomach. Jim pressed his lips to his, tasting faintly of liquor. “Very well. I will cease contraceptives.”  
  
“Good,” Jim purred, tugging on Spock’s tie. “You know what I like most about wedding clothes? Taking them off.”  
  
And a moment later, Spock couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me for this one! I didn't realize I hadn't posted it here years ago. Let me know if you enjoyed it!


End file.
